Poetry (words)


How much pleasure they own. When holding hands becomes so much more than holding. 

Each flesh covered vertebra brought to life with one flowing touch. Intricate nerves set on edge with anticipation. 

Slowly and beyond intense they outline they define. Seeing is believing, but feeling is intoxicating. 

Eyes close unwittingly, like you can’t bear the thought of waking up. Fingertips  undress, they explore. 

Tracing curves, tasting that palette after every touch. Time stands still, time is yours to hold. 

Mind fuels the senses and hunger drips from fingertips. Powerful strength held in such fragile vessels. 


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