Liz Palmer-Smith
Drowning
Your perfume clings to my clothes
Stealing my breath long after you have gone,
Still making me drunk. I want to drink,
To be drunk and not to think
To sink into the vast sea of your senses,
Swimming uncharted depths, sharing breath
Becoming one and nothing but pure feeling,
Drowning, dying one of many deaths.
Page(s) 70
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