mourning routine

the low bassline
across the floor
to find purchase
in my now tapping
the guitar kicks in
as the cymbals
with vibration

she sits on couch with her legs demurely crossed ignoring the fact that sunlight streams across her erect nipples as she pretends to read

all pretense lost as she sets the book down and stretches like a cat across the couch allowing the sunlight to showcase her exquisite nudity

my heart rumbles along with the drums to purr at her wonder as she invites my ravenous hands and mouth to explore the canvas of her body

the music
fills the room
now empty
as the last moans
of morning sex
in a fog
of pheromones
by the percolation
of coffee


2 thoughts on “mourning routine

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