rosalinda flores rosevoc
Once we made love
and again, a concession of love
my homage to Love.
His eyes were pleading aplomb. His heart, adoring, stunning even the rain. His hands were quick that held my breasts. He could not speak, my hands, he kissed. He closed his eyes, his heart searched
warmth. His mouth chanting, nailed me down. Our tongues kissed, we whispered love, a roar of life, away from strife. Slowly, every letter of his yearning, etched in me, bent enough, to carve radiance and
chronicles. Every letter of his moan, his name, a music of quiet. Both of us were tied and isolated a minute, isolated in spaces of rain, a minute. We drowned, letting go of our doubts to a flight, like vines
flawless of departures. We chanted on air, of sky, of Genesis, a cabala of generations, a reborn of fists. Soon, a grave, our breakable flesh will sleep, but unfading love in Grace shall arise fierce.
He loved me.
And again, a concession of love.
Do you still love me?
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