underneath the sheets

what must we be if not
underneath the sheets we
wrinkle and push taut, so
eager as lovers discover
hidden portals where doors
beckon fingers open wide
into unforeseen skies of
blue and white beyond our
reach that only peak
catapults us back into the
sanctity of our hands,
crushed into one another
gripping, holding tight onto
the contours our bodies
make, shielding you and me
before sheets unfold and
reveal us to the sun


About mr gahon

poet... writer... culinarian... i like to work with food that appeals to the senses, write words that taste even better View all posts by mr gahon

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