my hands have no more words
than fingered hush
against such lips as these
placed beneath ardor
in burning deep enjoin
peel back the layers
of soft
that "what I was" when
you first sought
of other need
my feathers tingle when
the wind will not suffice
I shiver
tongue of kiss
like lies
that end in pleasure

.

Congrats hun on the gold, it needed your innovation to make it this good.
C




16 old applause
