SOL: Dolce

He has a name for me I cannot
Pronounce, he uses it as a curse through clenched
Teeth by day and as a blessing bestowed at night
Voracious eyes guard the secret we
Both hold, the worlds we create while
Half-asleep, hidden between sheets from prying eyes
His foreign tongue curls around my lobe, his throat
Rough as he speaks in crude dialect
Professions that make me blush as we
Blame the waxing moon for our lunacy
Each vertebrae twists within my spine
Each ring on his fingers leaving imprints in
Soft skin, peeling me from the mattress
Pushing me into sandstone walls, going home late
Drinking prosecco from collarbones as it
Drips to the concave between ribs

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Ho peccato nel desiderarti tanto.”

One thought on “SOL: Dolce

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