In the worst moments
of the worst season, so far.
When nothing is resistant.
And all souls seem unclipped.
Waiting in one macabre
line after another.
I still float free, naked.
With red lips on the path of desire,
kissing my face, my neck
The wind sighing next to us.
For I have you.
And my body understands
every word, and every touch.
A Wandering Poet 
Damn!, the command of language đź‘Ś
LikeLike