pumpkin

a stolen kiss suspends the realisation
that midnight nears; a shoulder by a hand
so softly stilled, within their flesh a land
scarce unexplored by both imagination
and eager scent; another day’s creation
waiting between their hips – the yearning sand
which strains toward the ocean – to offend
the purest feelings of the waves’ sensation
… and of the swirling in the hourglass
(just like the rosy wine intoxicating
both he and she) they pay no heed, and hour
by hour they melt into each other; at last
warmth takes them, moulded tight – the coruscating
infinity within time’s frigid flower

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