I remember one year
I spent most of the weekend
That constitutes a British summer
In bed with you.
Indulging in lazy
Over-heated sex.
The heavy air
Coating our bodies with sweat
As we moved against each other
With well-oiled familiarity.
Afterwards lying
In languid disarray,
Close but not touching,
Unable to tolerate
The warmth of another body,
But somehow still part
Of the same animal.
No comments:
Post a Comment