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I feel
the pulse of my
pulse
hasten
whenever I splay open your poetry
and dare to stroke your ink ~
you are delicate
be`neath each line
for each letter formed in words
is a curve; you are
a tri`dimensional silhouette
a deuce of duchess
tell me
are you enjoying my touches?
your bodice
is a bare sonnet … a sunset
that splits with no regrets;
the numeric`s betray the numbers
of your femin`ice parfumes
inhibiting my poetic lair … oftenly
I want to kiss your lips
now if that isn`t un`fair?
for you are a`far,
`cross the venus, a
constellation
seperat`ing us … in terrain
I don`t know how to love a woman
much less
you?
but you make me feel like
oh, and like,
I don`t know …
but what I do know, I desire
to bask in the afterglows
of lovers un`alike … we are lovette`s, Luv
did you know that?
women
loving
women
and I have neither the clue
for I am a lover of men …
but you I make the exception
just tell me, my precious, where
to lay my poetry
because
… if I can`t have you in the real
I can at`least have you
in the poetry …
my virgin tongue grazes your nipple
I s h u d d e r