By T-Ray Bond
I can still smell you here
though you’re now four-days gone
and my pillow retains your hot scent
If I touch crumpled sheets
in the spots that were wet
I can still feel the passion we spent
And the guttural sounds
ghostly notes in the air
are the climaxed moans I still hear
I still savor the taste
where your sweet thighs connect
and I hunger for the trap oh so near
Can’t believe I still feel
where your hard-nippled breasts
seared brands that labeled me yours
Now my longing takes charge
as it locks me in place
like a puppy that wags at the door
Damn these hours that pass
damn the pain I endure
damn my phone that refuses to ring
Is it love that I feel
or lust that consumes
while your trap continues to sting
-It’s this prison I’ve made-
Doomed to live in a glass
filled with torture and gin
since you’re home with your husband and kids
© Copyright 2014 T-Ray Bond. All rights reserved.
T-Ray Bond has granted Prowling with Kat, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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