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Click hereThe waiting mouth
wants taking, deliberately biting
the plum, the fruit of night,
tasting texture, hearing tones
of breath, anticipation
of fingertips trailing skin,
glinting.
The phosphorescent pinpoints.
I bend Amante
as this first flush rises,
blushed dark with fever,
stretched taut as soft glass
oozing sweet trembles
and curved to lips
waiting to kiss
the night.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,500 poems.
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is so classical.
this whole series strikes me as almost the memoirs of a female casanova, or a greek love goddess
I want the whole collection, in a small leather bound book, to give to some one I adore
Beautiful.
Thank you
( and don't stop)