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Nov 2012
The heel of my hand can yin and yang
your cheekbone's hollow, thumb and finger tease
that ear lobe's cushion plush; can probe so lang-
uidly along this niche beneath your knees.
The luscious clutch of flesh holding your hips
to ribcage-harp strums slowly with each sigh;
those shoulders twitch how doves shrug, as my lips
trip jawline, neck and collar, waist then thigh.
I swear your skin tastes sweet between my teeth.
I dare you, close those eyes and let me brush
against each giddy iris underneath -
their flickers quicken, blossoming through blush -
I must touch every vertebra in turn
before your sternum curves the arc I yearn.
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