Your humid whispers,
the hushed syllables cascade in my ear
in a parade of soft sounds as
you cover my mouth with the back of your wrist
and insist I don’t speak; the taste of your skin
stops the words.
Your humid whispers,
the hushed syllables cascade in my ear
in a parade of soft sounds as
you cover my mouth with the back of your wrist
and insist I don’t speak; the taste of your skin
stops the words.
Damn, it’s hot in here. 🙂
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🙂
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