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Click hereWhen there are no words
In the mouth to breathe
Only an exhale of thought
In a moan to explain
Like a sigh from the wind
A rattle of leaves and limb
Brushing against each other
The sound in a gale of force
To be eased in a whisper
Taken in the whipping updraft
Carried to a neighbor perhaps
Yet who would hear and understand
The natural need if it were heard
How high does the pitch go
Of cries in painful pleasure
Before a nod of acceptance
Is sighed in knowing he is pleased
When there are no words for pleasure*
In the mouth to exhale the thought*
With a moan to exhale the tempest*
To the passion to which this is brought...........
The wind it sighs in mime*
The leaves bound to the limb*
Against each other they brush*
In the storm of gale force din.........
To erase an unheard whisper*
Taken in the whipping harsh updraft*
Carried to those who listen*
Yet who would understand the master craft...........
The natural need does beckon*
To the high set pitch it goes*
Of the cries of painful pleasure*
Is the sigh of the cumming blows...........