On the Awkwardness of Writing a Love SceneMature

A snatch at sensuality,
Reaching out for sex appeal.
Fingers straining to capture that simple, fleeting
Warmth that flows twixt the bodies of

Clumsy inaccuracy.
A child trying to peek through
Locked doors, to undisclosed passions
And secret night-time doings.

The blind lead the blind,
Innocence and naivety contest
Curiosity's wiles. Groping, fumbling for
Brass buttons, buckles and zips, 
To find the truth lying hot and sweaty in the bedsheets.


The End

20 comments about this poem Feed