Erotic PoetryForelockIf I had not been a man born
I would be the forelock
curled across your brow
kissed by your lash,
waiting for you to wake
and be your first sight in the morn.
If I cannot be the man who shares your bed
I would be the hair on your head
to be the tress to caress your cheek
to dance across your shoulders
and share your pillow every night.
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