Speaking softly with pursed lips
Tracing along the line of your hips.
Sweat puddles in your belly button’s nook
and If I was a fish, I know I’m on your hook.
Shuddering in complete delight
Hoping, for once, for it to be all right.
Soft touches in the starry night
with this struggle between what’s right and wrong.
Sweat stained sheets the shelter this wandering soul
incense and tears to help me lose control.
Gripping to slipping silk sheets of lust
where it came from maybe to must…
Moans escaping from heavy breath
as we shuffle seven inches closer to death

09/05/2003

Author's Note: I wrote this about making love, someone once called it Shuffling six inches closer to death.. So I kinda paraphrased it and came up with this love poem.

Posted on 09/05/2003
Copyright © 2025 Aaron Howard