Poetry

Heart sits,
Waiting at the tip of my
Quiet lips.
Fingers unsettle
Restless in wanting.
Ah! Brew and mull as I
Keep longing
For release!

Conspire oh coltish
Soul and elvish words. Conspire
While I twist and moan
In tasteful agony.

Only my fingers can give you release.

So Tease me.. tease me some more.
I’ll hold you back
Until with a moan escaping
I savour you, and release you with me.

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