In sweltering heat your body sweats, taking charge I quench, and thirst some more. My hands they glide your body’s waves, slipping endless upon your dripping shore. ~ Mark Thompson
How can I write the song of you, when words in rhyme cannot express, clearly divulge, nor deeply carress the sweetest of connections shared. For a pen is just an object used to scribe a language known from past. Yet the song of you is only known in a language new, yet to be shown….
When their fingers touched, he didn’t just hold her hand. She became an extension of him and he, an extension of her. ~ Mark Thompson
…and when we’re done I’ll take in the sweat on the nape of your neck; every nectar-filled drop of sweet-released pore, whilst you writhe in surrender At night’s nearing more. ~ Mark Thompson
“Come over.” He told her. “I have nothing to wear.” She replied. His response was perfect. MT
Wars should not be waged between men, They should be waged between a man and his woman’s zipper. ~ Mark Thompson
The only thing I want to wear on this horizon’s blackened end, is your touch. MT