It’s plain to me

That you aren’t, at all

As I uncover your tastes

Explore the blank page

That you have yet to turn

A page to write together

In kisses and caresses

Which are as organic

As the raw silk sheets beneath you

As close to fabric as we’ll get

You are all the cover I need

Not much at all, in fact

We’ll trace journeys in each other’s flesh

Stoking fires that burn out of control

For days

While we feast together on love

A banquet of raw desire

Cooked up hot


Not an empty calorie in sight

Full bellied we’ll laugh in exaltation

As the long night is burned away

By dawn’s promise

Of a brighter day


David Trudel  ©  2012


Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Unplain

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