Pushing.
A heavy pressure
I’ve grown accustomed to
this weight pressing
into my stomach
Heavy breathing
comes with his
excursion.
Suffocating
heat on my neck,
my brow
In a few minutes
he will look down
puckered brow
he will withdraw
Tag: La Petite Mort
Post Script: National Poetry Month 2012: 30 Poems in 30 Days Challenge
Poem 8: From My Lips to Your Heart
Poem 9:
Poem 10:
Poem 11:
Poem 12
Poem 13:
Poem 14: All the World’s a Stage
Poem 17:
Poem 18:
Poem 19:
Poem 20:
Poem 21:
Poem 22:
Poem 23:
Poem 25:
Poem 26:
Poem 27:
sayTaïna 