Hand-Wrighting

What I share won't come from after dark but rather the quiet before the light, warm morning kisses, and the cold grip of the day.







Sunday, April 21, 2013

Erotic memories hang like old clothes in the closet


Erotic memories hang like old clothes in the closet
Talisman of a style you can’t bring yourself to part with
They remain, faded and musky, shoved aside for what’s current
The deluxe piece at a heart stopping cost
Something you had to possess
Indiscriminately mixed with cheap attractive items
Secondhand finds from bargain bins, a
Raiment never to be pulled out, slipped into, flaunted at a party
Each gave pleasure against your skin

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