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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Relationship · #1036989
poem from 4-12-03
I curl
in fetal position
too drunk to move
too overcome by you

Your kisses tiptoe
up & down my spine

Your fingertips trace
the path to my soul

I want to keep
the whirling depths
locked behind my eyelids

BUT

I touch your cheek
in the dark
and open my eyes to you
searing you with this blaze
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