Bare
It’s not a dirty thing,
but still,
your cheeks burn bright
like each dying sun
just outside your window.
Fingers trace latent scars
carved by absent lovers.
Inquisitive journeys
spark a subtle answer,
“I still know how to move.”
Primal reflections,
Bare—
Every curve flowing into the next
roaring waves over a raw shell
that wraps up our tender hearts
each sensual notch gives rise to a glorious swell.
So you stand there,
feathers plumed out in full glory,
Hushed breathes
and storming anxieties
give way to a tentative call
“I am beautiful.”
Vibrations reverberating echoes
louder than the ghostly call.
but still,
your cheeks burn bright
like each dying sun
just outside your window.
Fingers trace latent scars
carved by absent lovers.
Inquisitive journeys
spark a subtle answer,
“I still know how to move.”
Primal reflections,
Bare—
Every curve flowing into the next
roaring waves over a raw shell
that wraps up our tender hearts
each sensual notch gives rise to a glorious swell.
So you stand there,
feathers plumed out in full glory,
Hushed breathes
and storming anxieties
give way to a tentative call
“I am beautiful.”
Vibrations reverberating echoes
louder than the ghostly call.