Lover, I believe the sweat of our labors
Beaded across my brow and bleary eyes
Forming rivulets down your ringlet bangs
Straw-colored and stuck to your lips and mine
Sputtering in our panted whispers
With words threaded from the thin air
Of this room lit like a February hotel
And falling to my rusted armor
Dripping onto the lust beneath
Flushing out vulgarity and fear
Leaving a pure soul in disbelief
Posts
