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Dec 2020
my hands hover above his skin
ready to begin a glorious prelude,
a lithe overture
smooth ivory lay beneath my fingertips
where anticipation mounts,
palms tingling, aching to travel
across satin scenery, the supple canvas
my covetous joints crave
the staging of a sacred symphony
to b minor not to be mine
Written by
Erin  26/F/NYC
   Captain and annh
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