my vision a haze,
my breath tinted of liquor
with the sensation of your skin still embedded on my palms,
your name remained stained on my lips,
blown out by the rupture of my every utter.
my screams echoed these walls,
scandalous schemes pleated into the cracks of sheer ardor, and the obscure comfort we'd pinpointed amidst the dimness of even our sweetest relish.
sensual.
how many times must a memory of significance coax into my very being?
August 18, 2016
Painting by Thomas Stratton
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