sleepyskin's Diaryland Diary

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desperate clutch of my flesh

at three fourty-six in the a.m.
I rolled over for what seemed like
the millionth time to
redirect your hot, sleepy breath
from my back from my face from
my body.
three years passed by without
the trace of a mans warmth
in these sheets and
getting used to that twosome-stickiness was more
than I was used to.

his small hands grasped for me and
we moved like tall, golden wheat in
a summer field of sheets blown
from a westerly wind and
as he entered me the world let out a sigh the
world heaved upon herself until everything just folded
most appropriately into the Rockies.

his small hands, his small hands, his
warm, salty brow his
need and his hunger and his desperate
clutch of my flesh makes me
entirely sleepless.

2:26 AM - January 17, 2004

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