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Apr 2016
Pupils dilate,
control capsized.
bring you
close enough
to fill more
than your eyes.

**** the literary pretence!
fulfil my lust.
Give me your
sweet recompense.

Each touch
and caress,
types pure feeling.
Sensations that
give words no meaning.

We write this act
upon the world.
With sounds of
animal grammar.

Time can wait,
well past sunrise.
Our stanzas
on our bodies;
as we sleep in
each others eyes.
Gregory Paul Dancer
Written by
Gregory Paul Dancer
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