your hand on my thigh,
melting into yours,
limbs looser than a breeze,
pulse lulling
back to rest in this nest
of fallen stars
while I catch my breath
or yours, drifting
with the moment
into some semblance
of eternity
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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