seven I had in the first hour alone
and the mouth of another but briefly as well
yet nothing compares to the drug in her airs
the delicate rise of her swell.

the wave and the tangle that covered her collar
that hid all the treasure of temptation there
I so longed to smooth it that quickly I moved it
and slowly grew drunk on the smell of her hair.

and except that it’s hers and the fingers are mine
there’s nothing much special there, all firm and cool
and I’ve tiny wet lips on my tiny hand tips
spelling kisses across her, a true fleshsick fool.

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