Erotic PoetryAutumnSide by side;
our bare legs mold to
the old oak swing
you built years ago.
All is quiet except thoughts;
falling into our minds
after being connected.
Skin on skin;
our bare shoulders rest on
the red flannel shirt
I bought years ago.
All is still except breath;
spiked with cider
we made and perfected.
One on one;
our bare bodies join in
the familiar rhythm
we started years ago.
All is dark except candles;
fragrant with memories
stored and collected.
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