I can still feel his fingers
tap along to the beat,
hand nestled between
where my waist and hip meet;
it’s almost if he is trying
to make music of me.
His touch puts me in tune
and I’m an instrument
but only for his use,
because the way that boy
plays my body
is enough
to leave every inch
of it singing.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
I can still feel his fingers
tap along to the beat,
hand nestled between
where my waist and hip meet;
it’s almost if he is trying
to make music of me.
His touch puts me in tune
and I’m an instrument
but only for his use,
because the way that boy
plays my body
is enough
to leave every inch
of it singing.
