Passionate Touch
I oft lose my composure watching you near
for love as a muse stays our passion infused.
My insides are deliciously alive
within delights your persona designs.
Deep love still flames your ardor to ignite
me in smolders scored by surrendered cries.
Your calloused hands always feel like alpha plies
of paradise your cravings ignite and
I recall my first touch brought your raspy sigh,
“Your soft slow hand feels like flitting fireflies.”
... CayCay
March 18, 2020
(written for contest: credit to Soup's Maria Williams for last line, “Your soft slow hand feels like flitting fireflies,” from her poem, “Slow Hand”)
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