Dust of my black wings

You touched me firstly in the sunlight
I touched you secondly in the moonlit-night
Thirdly you touched me on red velvet velour
It was then I lost count, and sang, amour!
Amour..! Amour..!

Like a moth passionately, driven, mad...
She blew the dust of my black wings...
My heart and soul danced, pattern-plaid
In the weft of her pale limbs fittings
I was her sun burning pleasure
As did moonlight, become, her.

Poetry by M Heathcote
Read 564 times
Written on 2012-12-19 at 03:35

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh like a total abandon to a supercharged moment of powerful feelings is how these words come to me. The title drew me in, too. Very nice!