libido gratuita
Denim, white cotton, Vitalis, you haunt
my dreamways, hands in torn pockets, eyes turned on
walls that breathe like flashbacks. Left leg slightly bent,
knee pushes a hole in your jeans. The toe of your left boot
touches the floor, the squared heel slightly raised in search
of a long lost stirrup. The t-shirt carelessly half-tucked in
your waistband bathes your stomach in ripples that stretch smooth
across your chest to reappear in peaks at your nipples. Biceps
strain
the fabric and pull the meticulous stitches into bas relief.
Blue eyes, no, brown; blond hair, no, brown; a vampire's
skin burned every day by the sun and then healed
in the cool of this dark, where only I
see you, and no one touches you
without paying one way or another.
01-23-99