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



 

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