Tuesday, April 9, 2019

A perfume like a sweet plum,
sugary kisses on the teeth,
vital drops trickling down your fingers,
sweet erotic pulp.

Threshing floors and haystacks,
inciting secret hideaways,
mattresses with a hidden past.

The pungent green valley seen
from the roof above.
All young love, wet and burning
like a lantern tipped in the rain.



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