

Untitled Poem ?My peasant handsUntitled Poem ?
Indulge in your silk skin. My weak fingers, Making a sacred pilgrimage
Over your arched spine, descend each vertebrae like a ladder. My hushed, unworthy lips Whisper gently, brushing against the breadth of your shoulder, Speaking only the language of your warm, blushing body. If this is sin, My hearts already in flames.
lol
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Live without reserve.
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Mind on paper_
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