Sunday, September 28, 2014



By: M. MacMinn

dank and worn
tossed aside to the floor
soft and salty
forgotten frills, frayed lace

cupping them to my nose
breathing you in
learning the intimate you

in the shadows, I pulse
I stroke, I grow

I smell you, holding myself
in the secret security of solitude
I imagine myself upon you
pretending to know you

I release

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