Taste of vertigo, and you, by the window—
slow arc of your back, against the dark,
a bowstring pulled taut.
Clinging to a confession, sheet clings low,
intimate pulse, speaking in hunger,
something like a prayer.
Every sigh my name, vowels in cognac—
thighs like a cathedral’s arch,
burning a midnight torch.
How godless we’ve become,
when your teeth find my wrist,
and the moon is just a rumor—
Taste of vertigo, and you, by the window.








Powerfully penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian