I slip my fingers
Between the buttons
To feel what is there,
Not love,
Just the sensation
Of soft,
Evolving into hardness
In her,
In me,
Fingers circling
The tip of each
When my hands
Get there,
As significant
As the climb to the top
Of Mount Everest,
Hard tips from which
Just a bit of liquid comes
My palms encircling
Each mound,
Feeling each tremble
A volcanic movement
Under the flesh
I feel may soon erupt,
She shudders
I shudder, too,
Her volcano
Giving rise to mine,
This thing of
Mutual attraction.
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