Poem 61

a Ce Sont les Contes inspired poem





she felt the struggle between his shaking fingers
and her breathing break into whispers and sharp intakes.

oh my dear,


he grasped at her violently with his lips
and he fumbled as he took breath of sacred air.

oh my dear,
clementine child.

let him say sweet nothings until she falls asleep
and be it if he leaves, she will wake to know.

My Amara,
my sweetest naive girl.

she will be let known when his hands slip away
and his scent begins to disappear, then she will know.

he will breathe her in.

just let love be.

author’s note. interpret it any which way you believe. Amara will let you know otherwise.


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