Naked

It was as much a hinder as a clatter

a soft splatter of broken love

delicious  melted caramel

on creamy lips of summer fog.

 

I do not forget her of hers

a fine progression of my past;

wanton, waiting, wishing for more

all silk-lined in shawls, nothing else.

 

I prefer them that way

who can blame me?

 

ajs

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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