beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

Four In The Morning

In my heart

It is always four in the morning

Where we talk

Touch and please

One another

I give up some sleep

To rest in your


When the dawn arrives

I almost resent it

But the grit in my eyes

Isn’t sandpaper

But the dust from diamonds

Like the ones which

Tingle on your skin

When the light blows

Across your skin

My mouth


I make you breakfast

Then make you



3 thoughts on “Four In The Morning

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