NotoriusPoetry

In the midst of the hamper, where shadows convene,lies cotton and lace with a story unseen.A whisper of warmth, a trace of the day—skin, sweat, and the ghost of her intimate sway.He lifts the soft fabric, a thief in the dim,presses it close where the scent clings to him.Not roses, not perfume, but something far truer:the raw, living note of the woman who wore her.It’s hunger, it’s worship, it’s quiet disgrace,a pulse in the cloth that quickens his face.No touch, just the breath of what once held her near stolen communion, both sacred and queer.Then folded and hidden, returned to its place,the secret remains in the dark of the space.A small, private sin in the wash of the night,the lingering scent of forbidden delight.

“Brevity is the soul of lingerie“.