The Morning After (funded!)
Short poem today. Sonnet.
Brief notes, 'cause tendonitis is acting up. But want to say: indirectly inspired by one of papersky 's older poems. Got me thinking of sensory stuff.
Also: we are now funded for over $500 including matching, and for 6 tarot sonnets, of which I have only written three. EEK! YAY but stop donating in my name now plz! *grin*
(tendonitis = not going to respond much briefly to replies; but I do read & appreciate them.)
onwards!
-----
The morning after
He's frost and fire in concert on your skin,
He's moonlight melting cool against your tongue
fresh beeswax, feathers, magic softly sung
in glamour and in lust. Invite him in
and he'll be fingernails; he'll be a kiss
as warm as melting chocolate, bittersweet
to bring you, willing, lips and legs and heat
to satiation. Thinking you are his
you'll drift, and half-asleep, give heart and name --
and wake to cold and mouldy leaves. He's gone
like stars that melt away with coming dawn.
His pleasure-taste has dried to morning shame
and crushed-red velvet shackles. You'd been told
that elfin love's as false as elfin gold.
----
Brief notes, 'cause tendonitis is acting up. But want to say: indirectly inspired by one of papersky 's older poems. Got me thinking of sensory stuff.
Also: we are now funded for over $500 including matching, and for 6 tarot sonnets, of which I have only written three. EEK! YAY but stop donating in my name now plz! *grin*
(tendonitis = not going to respond much briefly to replies; but I do read & appreciate them.)
onwards!
-----
The morning after
He's frost and fire in concert on your skin,
He's moonlight melting cool against your tongue
fresh beeswax, feathers, magic softly sung
in glamour and in lust. Invite him in
and he'll be fingernails; he'll be a kiss
as warm as melting chocolate, bittersweet
to bring you, willing, lips and legs and heat
to satiation. Thinking you are his
you'll drift, and half-asleep, give heart and name --
and wake to cold and mouldy leaves. He's gone
like stars that melt away with coming dawn.
His pleasure-taste has dried to morning shame
and crushed-red velvet shackles. You'd been told
that elfin love's as false as elfin gold.
----