On Wooden Floors
What crimson taste lingers
Still in my mouth. It is the taste
Of you and the long night
Now behind us.
Of being awakened
1:15 am by your silent arousal
Slipping deep into our silent dialogue
Of firm tenderness
Of unbroken circles
And the forgotten pleads
Earlier we hid behind.
Forgotten are the words.
You left behind
Your worn blue jeans.
Endearing and basic. Enduring
With the calm of your voice
On bare wooden floors,
In Autumn thunder.
Still. Lingering
On my chest
And on the buds of my taste.
Crimson. It is the taste
Of you once I knew.
J Nguyen Knight