A Hundred Deaths



A garland of flowers
Petals tumbling down
Over her shoulders
Hair whipped by the wind
Skin tasting of salt
Found in distant shimmery seas
Eyes circled by dark rings
Green pools in which he drowns
Unable to resist
Vivid cerise lips
The call of her hips
She tilts her head
He loses his
Dies a hundred deaths
In the madness of mislaid hours
The crest of wild waves
And divine dreamy languor

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