Mistake
Mistake
Deep reservoirs of
Unbridled lust
Overflow at two in the morning,
Spilling like a flooded river.
The moon through wooden blinds
Summon feelings, both hot and cold
Forcing me to whisper “yes”
While hands move on their own accord.
And when snores from pleasure
Drown the deafening sunrise,
Thoughts of regret yelp, with fanfare,
And coach and coil memories
Of an insidious mistake
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You’re currently reading “Mistake,” an entry on S. Minor Creatively
- Published:
- July 7, 2011 / 6:01 am
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