Morning Whispers


Filtered light beckons me to movement

Dust motes swirl in the air

Muscles sore, straining against memory

Reaching up across the distance

The vast emptiness of cool sheets

Stretching to find submission

Compliant softness, arms welcoming

Hips unhinged with yes

No more as breath hitches

Fingers curl around silk and silver

No more, but yes whispered

In the morning

Valentine, 5 October 2014


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