I feel the
edge of her nails as
her hand strokes
my arm, and
a dargonfly succumbs to
the art of longing,
painting life
when, from the corner
of the bed,
one bare and
bended leg beckons, and I
lightly kiss her thigh.
edge of her nails as
her hand strokes
my arm, and
a dargonfly succumbs to
the art of longing,
painting life
when, from the corner
of the bed,
one bare and
bended leg beckons, and I
lightly kiss her thigh.
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