Do you feel a strumming
of my affection across your skin?
Like rain in August, sunshine in January,
it plays for our spirits a song of escape.
As one feather, its tip, the cusp
of my desire, how slowly shall I run
it down your stomach before it
becomes unbearable to you?
Like a softly picked solo,
steadily at my heart, waiting
to be in your arms, for a slow dance
of mouths, a moment when music
releases its storm to pleasure.







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87 old applause
