untitled 5I walk with the scent of you drifting like a ghost across my skin,
As though in a dream.
This delightful departure from my everyday
Could be no more than a passing anomaly.
... that’s ok.
Through closed eyes the faint rasping of check against neck,
The slip of skin on skin,
All instinctive we reach
And make no promises.
But I will smoulder with this hunger you have sired in me
And long for the caress of silk on my wrists.
© mjc 01 August 2013