It used to be…
where His deepest most sensual penetration
was the slow slide into her mind.
An appetizing aphrodisiac
of his poet’s prose, to
a wordy veil
to blind & bind
her body & mind.
silence between them
frosts ripe fruit on a vine,
as a cold curtain falls on dawn
to never unfold after dusk is drawn.
Where the locked gate remains shut
& the rattle of the chain stands still,
to leave a hole that never fills
the same again…