the goose
pimples
that line
your back,
running
down the curve
of your pale
shoulder
rise and fall
at the touch of
my hand,
my lips. i
have no power
over you,
but this.
pimples
that line
your back,
running
down the curve
of your pale
shoulder
rise and fall
at the touch of
my hand,
my lips. i
have no power
over you,
but this.
1 comment:
this is good, paints a picture of what desire would look like if it was a solid and not an object of my imagination. it's been a while.
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