2010 QUILL AWARD - BEST SHORT POEM - STRUCTURED
Your image remains in the tendrils of thought
that drift in my mind – knowing you caught
me alone and in need.
The memory of your touch - feather light,
of your mouth on my skin in the darkness of night
draining my essence in greed.
Morning has come and what little remains
to bear witness – rumpled sheets and some stains:
Facts that mislead.
You are gone but in absence my body feels
the marks of your passion – memories that reveal
and will not recede.
Tonight I will wait for your silent return ...
You damnable mosquito – now it's your turn
to be abused and bleed!
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