Title: Unintentional Confessions
The taste of his body is finally tangible. No more walking by him thinking, why canít I smell him, familiar odor long gone, only a memory left in its wake. Now as I pull him close, lick over wounds I inflicted and wonder how we ended up here in this bed, clothes scattered to the four walls in haste as we scrambled to touch and bite and work ourselves to a sweaty release, it hits me.
A simple confession, never meant to be uttered aloud. Never meant for his ears because I believed him dead.
I always liked your poetry.