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Debra A Baugh
Poems
Jun 2012
Touched
one...
fingertip he traced
two...
to lips he'll taste...wet
three...
caresses; trembled haste
four...
cradles softness, plump derriere
five...
covers breast tweaking, lingering there
shuddering as tongue parts me, like a sweet eclair
breathless; fingers entangled in hair
he's says:
baby, straddle thickness, love me right here...ahhhhh!!!! yes!!!
Written by
Debra A Baugh
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Debra A Baugh
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