The Moon

It feels so addicting when
the heat drifts down your spine,
soft fingers woven in your hair. 

A low gasp tears through a
hollow setting, the darkness
disguising 
every bruise, 
every inconsistency. 

If it’s done right it’s enough to 
send your senses ablaze,
all else
momentarily forgotten. 

But morning always comes, love,
and the moon doesn’t linger at
dawn. 

B.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s