in the afterglow

we quarrel    
we fight      
your lips retire      
from deep      
kissing      
to spiteful libretti      
that occupy      
their once-sweet curves      
aspiring      
my nerves      
to slay      
      
my tongueing      
not of charms      
ushers you      
into spontaneous      
night flight      
elegy      
that refrains      
in penitence      
with the sultry      
morning sun      
when daylight      
regurgitates      
your presence      
at my door      
     
i take you back      
deeply and inner      
for no more      
aspire i      
to be your      
guileless saint      
a wicked lie      
than aspire you      
to be my      
wanton sinner      
     
and in the      
afterglow      
of reconciling rage      
the tongues      
that bled the night      
like hungry knives      
are pliant ploughshares      
pledging peace      
     
and the cursing lips      
grow magic hips      
devising novel charms      
that render sweet      
the promises      
of perfect love      
in an imperfect world      
     
© Copyright 2019 April 02      
by Clyve A. Bowen♫