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Jul 2011
worn, well loved pages of books yearn for her touch
and the words themselves long for her tender gaze .
tea cups count the seconds until her lips are pressed to them
while firelight flares to lasciviously lick her skin at her passing.
clothes cling and caress like a lover when music moves her
light bends as the whole universe cleaves to her, and so do i.
frances lee
Written by
frances lee
   Victoria Rose
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