Perspectives from a Child of the Americas
You step in.
You put your hand in my wet, curly, hair.
It’s an organized mess.
You breathe you miss me.
It’s not enough.
Your body kisses me.
It’s a pinned up lust.
You don’t care about reality.
It’s just something more to remember.
You say few words.
We turn December.
Copyright © 2012 Nichelle Calhoun
Your words are plain, yet delicate
your writing as a subtle depth; well done.
Thank you so much guys. Just writing as I see it.
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