After love

Sometimes
In the warm red undercurrent
After loving you
I would dream of her fingers
Touching my body.
No, your fingers because
I am talking to you
Their curved feminine moons
Their velvet-scented sweetness
Does remembering make it better?
Wondering as I lie on these blood red sheets
And count the breaths of my lover
Timing the rise and fall of my chest
If not my heartbeats
There are silver streamers falling
Behind us as we clasp hands
And laugh, and leave behind the damp, organic smell.

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