softly gently you rip at my core
and touch its rawness with tender care
it renders me weak, but strong
as your dance of fingers
plays a requiem of sorts
an ode to the little death
within that rush I die a million deaths
and I am reborn
by the resurrection of your touch
My breath is spirited away
in a brief dance of ecstasy
my very being, ruptures
and I become a force of nature
and a river flows
from my deepest fountains
in the after-tremors, briefly
I find myself yearning
one last taste
of you
one last drop of ember
oh whisky bottle
just one…
(c) 2014 allen simpson
Oktober 21, 2014 at 10:36 nm
Hehehehehe…lekker ou whipsky 😉 kan myself goed vereenselwig met die een….
Briljant verwoord Wolfie 🙂
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Oktober 21, 2014 at 10:55 nm
dankie Hanneliese 🙂 ek is mal oor whisky. Ek het lanklaas gehad en voel dis tyd om weer ‘n glassie te drink van die wonderlike nektar
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Oktober 21, 2014 at 11:12 nm
Jy praat my taal ❤
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Oktober 21, 2014 at 11:14 nm
❤ selde dialek ook lol
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 9:21 nm
😉
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 7:27 vm
Ek het amper gedink jy skryf oor iets anders as whisky!
Dis so mooi geskryf Wolfie
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 9:33 vm
Subtiel so geskryf lol Ek was in ‘n stoute bui gisteraand
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 10:13 vm
Puik gedoen Wolfie!
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 10:34 vm
dankie C! 🙂
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 11:23 vm
Ek hou van die een
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Oktober 22, 2014 at 11:32 vm
Dankie Zeppie
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