the tuck of your arms
trigger my slathering
wandering promiscuousness
my fetish, your tuck, your flowered print dress
the flesh gathered there and scented
lilac, rose, sandalwood from your neck
to the line drawn across
where your breasts begin
forgive my necessary nudging
my fingers and urge to make my
lips bigger
to engulf
and hickey those soft places
between bicep and side
of bosom needing marks
a legacy, recent suckle
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