Wednesday, February 21, 2018

An original poem by M.I.Marquis

A movie was playing in the background
while voices were running through the room.
Sitting far across from you
my cheeks were burning red,
then your hands were on the blue.
Whispers, soft sounds made,
mouths moving,
breathing in the sour taste of me and you.
Now my skin doesn't smell like me
and my fingertips are missing something;
just a kiss on the lips
on the porch, outside our friend's house,
then you stepped inside your car
and drove away from there.
The sofa is still smelling like us
and the air is filled with the scent
of our breaths
when in between our kisses,
you softly touched my hair.
Marylou I.Marquis

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