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Morning

A poem by anonymous.

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Content Warning: sexually explicit


Is it not a beautiful thing to love you

To wake up at morn and feel the hairs

Of your legs against mine, your hip bone

Tucked under my portly stomach


My arm numb and pins and needles

From resting your head on it, puffs of rank

Breath coming from between your lips

As you still sleep


The glow of the sun through the window

Too-hot on my covered body

And too-bright against my eyes

The rest of the room dark


Is it not wonderful to recall

Our stolen moments alone

Where I held you between myself and the wall

Kissing you senseless as we both ran out of breath


The feeling of hard stone against your back

Cooling you from behind as I kept your front warm

Losing my resilience in fighting

The compulsion to attend to your every need


My growing desire great yet taking yours first

My desperate hands reaching for your soul

To show my devotion

Waiting for your every sound and sucking it into myself


Is it not electrifying to touch each other

My hands around your waist

Your lips tasting of pomegranates

And mine of cardamom


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