Featured Poetry

Bedsheets

Olegs Jonins

You're killing me 
while the summer rains drip from the teakwood
ceiling onto the bedsheets wrapped around soft hips
and thighs, rhythmic breathing as 24K gold anklet
adorns the muscle defined map of his strong back.
His lips brushing against dimpled skin as if it were
the delicate insides of a honey drizzled fig.
I’m killing you?

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