Undercover

Standard

 

Curtains gently

hide the soft

December

sun

and legs shaping

warm furrows

thrill to the

calming beat

of expectant

sleep.

 

So just the

roughened edge

of wonder

plays with doubt.

 

Brief marching crowds

that bend

to naked ear

and hiss

‘Pull back the sheets.’

 

Or not.

 

Hot, defiant

undercover kiss

with hand in

horizontal hand;

lay down arms,

give in.

 

Flushed, bruised

and happy,

skin to rebel skin.

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