Posted by: reasondeceives on: December 6, 2007
it’s how
the arch of his face
fits under her nape
how
the warmth of his hand
oozes into her stomach
travels to her bum
to the base of her spine
it’s the memory
of brassiere, boxers,
and legs
of heartbeats racing
back muscles uncoiling
of a body to be read
and of parting
before
they
lose
control
