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A Few Short Words

Dense Not Thick

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Lips

Own

‘Tenderly but with a firm sense of ownership,’ she says, when I lay my hands upon her. I play my fingers down her spine and beneath the panty line, there I trade my tenderness, pound for pound per square inch upon her buttocks. ‘My body is yours,’ she says, but it’s my skin on fire, my lips melting upon contact, my senses subsumed, my heart quickening her veins. I place my tongue upon her neck and eat her pulse, soft chewing toffee relished for its texture. You are everything to me, I say, and her body says, I know.

Lips

She has beautiful lips this girl,

plump and firm, pale crimson,

if that can be said.

When she smiles

it takes on the air of a spectacle,

a Broadway performance

as they slide gracefully back

revealing the uniform white

light of teeth,

an ensemble cast of joy.

They work in tandem,

lips and teeth, with her eyes,

those deep-set green forests of thought,

so that when she smiles,

when the curtain is raised

and the show commences,

her eyes work the room,

a talented spotlight to attract your attention.

And all the while she never sees you.

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