'Rapture'
By christy
These quiet nights when you fall to slumber in grottos of silent pleasure, starlight filtering through tattered blinds to freckle your skin, I lie awake drunk with moon and the fluid lines of your flesh, forgetting the cashmere sweater found half-eaten by the dog, the fluorescent crayon masterpiece sketched on the fridge, the day, my name. You are there like a lazy cat stirring, stretching, and recoiling, wrapping beauty around shadow, unaware of the thunder in my thoughts. Written November 30th, 2001 © on Nov 30 2001 02:06 AM PST 0 • 8
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"These quiet nights when you..."