Pure Sex. ( Poem Every Day - Day Eighteen )

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She is sex, filling the room with sweat and smoke.


Her hands grasp the bowl and she takes another toke.


She is so comfortable in her flawed flesh.


I look her over as if Im about to sketch.


There isn't a reason, I can't caputure this.


Not at all. I lean in for a kiss.


She slyly smiles as she turns her head.


I lay my body down on the bed.


I feel her slowly climb on top of me.


I smile up at her, capturing the memory.


 


 

Created: Apr 21, 2014

Tags: prose, metered, request, poetry

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