About the Poem
Remembering his fingers, his eyes, his kiss - and the words flowed on paper like magic. Thus was a poem created.
|You feel with what your fingertips
would brush, with cocked brow
ravishing over painted lips.
You feel with what your gazing eyes
would see, with stolen glances
among the starlit skies.
It was you, at every turn,
with your soft heated breath,
enflames desire in which I yearn.
It was you, beneath the night
skies, who molded flesh against
flesh, becoming my guiding light.
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