she signed every kiss
with the tip
of her tongue.

the places along my frame
that signature had travelled
the parts of me
marked as hers.

i wrote novels of devotion
with my tongue
along every inch of her body
new gospels of worship
etched across her perfection.

is not forever
but the memory of it
seems to be.

i miss writing
silent odes
punctuated by
writhing moans.

i just write
to the memory of love
penning odes in silence.

6 thoughts on “s(i)gnatures

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