gossamer-draped blossoms
i sit and i think and i stare through my drink, through the smoke of the air, to the night of her hair, through the brink of a wet grip of pursed lips, the whispered allusions of her hips bare and skin fair, the protrusions with their glare of eyes pink and aware. the naked flesh cold had quivered, delivered on a threshold upon my lap swarmed to the giver of warmth through a river of form, the swollen paps in my grasp as i vow to allow myself to be wrapped in skin and trapped within as the curtain flaps with wind and the phonograph rasps at the unscrewing of the flask and I sit here and bask in sin.