AFTERGLOW

 

Hunger harbours its hold
like a boat
bent on the scent of the sea
and we are bound
to the pull of its freedom,
its current crushing all caution
as we fall folly to its friction
on bended knee in benediction,
on beds of bodies bare and breathless,
tongues tempted towards taste,
buoyant on the bounce,
fast to the flesh, I want you,
you feel me, I will leave you
famished for nothing but more
and more and more, as I walk away,
still parched, still famished,
but never foolish
enough to linger longer
than the afterglow.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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