The obsidian sky breathes down my back
leaving every line, every contour adored.
Nothing compares to brush of sweet lips,
dreams of leather upon burning hot skin
as night gives way to wanton, dark desire.
Do you trust lust enough to give me love?
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for “Quadrille #51″ @ Dverse Pub
Posted on poetry pantry @ pOETS uNITED