Saturday, September 10, 2011

Wet

The cold all around next to the skin,
it's fingers reaching into every crevice,
never leaving, always yielding,
Enveloped in gentle folding caress.

Deeper and deeper, the pressure grows.
Darker and blacker, flowing and swirling.
Dripping, running, the sounds off my nose,
Demanding the air I breath.

Smoothly rendering silks unnecessary
Infinite lips kissing my skin
Warm to cold if but wait awhile
Oh! What joy I find myself in.

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