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Click hereUnder the pier
where the sand is hard
but dry, we lay.
Hamburgers, bonfires
and even firework celebrations,
melt into insignificance
as your tongue sinks
between my legs.
Only the soaring gulls
echo back
my keening cries.
Under the pier: so very old England. Love it, especially the evocative keening cries.
a really strong image with sound and sense made clear to the reader. :-)
My favorite subgenre of erotic poetry. Well done, UYS.