deepundergroundpoetry.com

How I Wish It Were So

She’s thinking how my touch
might be like snow
upon her wrists
her neck,
her lips,
a feathering;

how it would halt her breath
and make her inarticulate
and open-mouthed
and seeking mine.

She knows that she’ll become
a heated liquid thing,
and serpentine
at last, at last
upon the length of me.
Written by Baldwin
Published
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