My mind’s eye spies of he what it should not, beneath the gown behind which she hides, all that any man might want of a bride, her shape pressed against it as I pull it free, so I can see that which I wish to be, the shoulders I used to stroke with my hands, the breasts I might get better to understand, pressing her flat against me, to feel her smooth skin, wrapping my arm around her waist, the lusty thighs I ached to spay, to have her face down at me side, so that in her I might ride, high on me as if on a saddle, thought I must be satisfied with the kiss I miss, a memory of what once was, and never can me again
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