Free Verse # 367 (firing his sun)

My lips pressed
against her breast,
a sun sinking
into the bosom of the sea.

~

Wearing dawn’s thin mist
for a veil
she came to him,
her cascading hair
pooling into his lap,
her lips a match
firing his sun.

~

Possessive
to the point of ache
I want my poem
to well up inside of her
then spill,
inundating her skin
her eyes
her breath
becoming her soul.

~

Her violent shudder
as his words pin her,
rivers of ink
furrowing through her skin,
converging in her womb.

~

For an instant
our eyes met
and that gaze
still furrows into me
carving river after river
of desire and poetry

To R

~

In the hour before dawn
her skin glows,
becomes radiant,
and that is how you know
the sun will soon rise.

~

On the outskirts of dawn
she is the voice of silence

~

Le cendre de ses yeux
à jamais
brule dans mes veines

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