Sixty Nine

Weariness lines her eyes, like kohl,
A gem burns bright in each.
Each blink takes its due luxury,
buoyant, back-floating on the surface of time.
With her, rustles her listless skirt,
tinkling sighs.
A smile that blossoms quietly within
Lips settled in the grooves of habit.
Crumpled locks brush her soft shoulders,
and whisper kisses and promises in her ear.
Limp fingers that ache
to lace with elusive healing.
The woman with dreams
of dreaming.

7 thoughts on “Sixty Nine”

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