by Ryan Stone
Source: Google Image
She comes in through my window, dripping
ambrosia and moonlight. I’m feigning sleep,
she draws me out with jasmine scented
kisses. She slips from innocence,
denim and satin, to writhe
down my spine as a shiver.
Promises born in salt and fire
roll with the swell of her breast,
die with the plea turned to ash
on my tongue, with the band
returned to her finger.
Nocking an arrow she raises,
releases; how deeply
her false overture pierces,
I never will,
By the same author: Stillborn
My name is Ryan Stone, I’m a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia. I have no formal credentials, just an observer’s eye and an insatiable appetite for books. I’m rough around the edges but the right turn of phrase will stop me dead in my tracks every time.
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