Blues Song for the Love Sprung

Dismal are Sunday rains. Mind drifts
to cryptic messages you scribd
in collarbone hollows, vibrating in sync
with the wicked force of your body, exploring
the depths of my quaint heat
dripping warm cream.
Dare to picture the results
such extraordinary fantasy motivates.

Soul unions are unpredictable;
your enchantment? Unparalleled.

Body aches remind me of secrets past lives
shared in shoulder bites and tongue brushes,
interrupting peaceful reflection
with lewd memories of lithe thighs
parting mine by careful skill and reckless strength,
savory tastes willowing down chins.

That meant we’d chosen love.
Now, all I do
is lament your departure.

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