Lament

..
No one knows anymore
the warm tan of my thighs.

How at night, under cover
of muslin they shimmer secretly,
writhing like the forked tongue
of some great serpent still as stone,
lying in wait, sniffing out
prey for the loving.

Who remembers
the damp musk of their embrace?
Who shivers at the scissors
of loins in that first flush of touch
before the quicksilver flash,
the descent into darkness?

No, no one knows anymore.

.

Comments

[checcs]

"No one knows anymore the warm tan of my thighs" says it all

[torn]

Like it.