a quiet touch poem...
The red lace slipping
over her hips,
tongue wetting her delicate lips,
the skirt dropping to her feet.
© 2012 Frank Atanacio
More by this Author
Sirens ran through the air, it dominated every other sound, made everyone’s heart pound, an emergency was near, and that was very clear,
I couldn’t believe that life could seduce an endless train of people, in order to reduce my own depression, I drew close enough to see the pulsing beauty of their unique expression,
The killer didn't need heart failure as death, pain and agony waited in silence, The killer stood up fixing Anne Carter with a cool, contemptuous gaze. Anne fiddled a bit with the toothbrush, but she