If there is an inch
Of flesh I’ve not explored
In my mind,
I can’t find it,
The all too smooth
Landscape,
The bloom of flower
Below to the tight
Hard buds above,
The curve beneath
The cheeks over
Which my lips have
Often gone,
I know each inch
As well as I know
My own, my lips
And tongue exploring
Again and again,
Never ceasing to be
Amazed at the treasure
I find, the fountain
Of youth from which
I cannot help but drink,
Lapping it all up,
Each drip of dew
In each fold of flower,
Always aching to go
Deeping,
Not an inch, but a mile,
I have missed nothing
In my mind, letting
My mouth, fingers
And the rest explore
That endless uniform
That is in the end
Completely you.
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