They lay like plaited bread in love…
By Mark Heathcote
Tue, 28 Feb 2012
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3 comments
Kneading those white buttocks
Back and forth, in greedy palms
Stretching over doughy flesh
He then holds her warm breasts
There rising indicates
The ovens warmth is intensifying
Moister starts to perspire!
Drip by drip, down, plaited hair.
Seconds are vacating minutes.
Minutes untangling hours…
Legs are made jelly…
And empty of all desires “rigidity”.
They lay like plaited bread in love.
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Comments
I like this poem; it has
I like this poem; it has some lovely images and conjures self known experiences beautifully. The eye of the reader is caught on a personal level.
ON a technical level, I wonder if too many 'ings' are putting it too far into the past... and whether another word could be found perhaps starting with a v (same meaning) could make the second 'vacating' a more memorable experience....
maisie Guess what? I'm still alive!
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oh eck, now I'm
oh eck, now I'm uncertain.... the beginning is a real grabber. I did one titled 'feeder' years ago, which dealt with flesh, and it had the same effect...
maisie Guess what? I'm still alive!
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