Our Summer DaysA Poem by Aekmy
I melted, hot like the butter in my mothers' Alabama kitchen on a
Sunday afternoon right after church
when the chicken was made and the women were cookin' and the kitchen was alive.
Your tongue, sweet in my mouth, tasted my honey lips.
Your hands, like fine cotton sheets,
were consoling my tired
The color of rosemary glowed in my cheeks.
In our slow kisses, I felt like we were one.
Finally, I belonged.
© 2011 Aekmy
Shelved in 2 LibrariesAdded on June 10, 2011
Last Updated on December 5, 2011
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