The London Hours, 2012


could it be you
breathing over me
heavily asleep
darkish hair on my belly
my breast moving slightly
not seeking disturbances
suddenly heavy your head
resting holding lips on me
uttering sweet
could the wind
have changed
could it be true
you larger than I
your eyes aren’t small
finally I could look in
it’s a different you
on stage and modest
could it be age



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