Fortune Teller

The future, caught
in a prism
proffered
by a fortune teller,
she sees herself
tangled in sheets,
naked – and
un-alone.

Her lover hides
his image; faceless,
he presses against her.
His voice – soft murmur – caresses the length of her;
his fingers
follow the trail
  of
    syllables
    down
    her
    spine,
 carve into her his own
stroke of want.

No mystic could predict
     such need;
or
translate
         this passion
with such eloquence.

~

Siobhan
3/19/2014
rev 7/16/14

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