I love her partly because she need not take gifts from me
for me to win her heart, no exaggerated game to have her take me to her bed. She
hates flowers and candy, and does not hold hostage that which men like me
desire, a kiss as a kiss, not a hit or miss, when the key turns in her lock,
she opens fully, erroneously calling it “Wanton” when it is not, I call it
honest, giving freely without disguise, a golden goddess who I undress still in
my dreams, if not merely in memory, tasting how sweet her honey is, feeling how
soft her melons are, cupped in the palms of both my hands, there for me to
squeeze, but above all, I love her lips, moist, tender, luscious, that like her
thighs open wide, she needs no gift other than my lips and I love her all the
more for it.
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