I still feel her
With my lips
Like a blind man
Traces out the lines
Of the world with his fingers,
Her long neck,
Then her lips,
Her breasts and all the rest,
The feel of her
Etched in my memory
Even more firmly than
What I have seen,
How soft she is
How sweet she tastes
no, not sweet, potent
as if she is made up
of exotic spices
and I need to shamble them
for a long, lingering time,
letting lips and tips of tongue
sample every part of her,
each glorious aspect
from the breasts I suckle
to the button I push
to make her come.
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