The perils of your hunger
hunt me down inside. My thighs burn
from your first bite, my lonesome hunter.
When the sun is finished, a rift.
Between you and me there exits
only a deep forest, and one hopeless word,
Prey.
Tag: sex poem
That Morning
Without a warning
the fog peeled itself off
the land, leaving the soil
moist and sleepy.
That morning
she sat with her quietest,
most insistent desire, him,
and loneliness.
SW Altair 