little deaths

le petit mort,
that’s what she called them,
those precious moments
when he’d let go

the sound of him,
the sight of him
basking in the
afterglow

allowing himself that moment
when nothing else mattered
but the beating of his heart,
the heightening of
every sense

a floating,
drowning,
searing feeling
leaving them
no room for
pretense

Got something to say? Spill the beans!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s