Photo Credit:  Anna Sastre

Usually faces are the focus of flights of fancy

But then our target tightens to tracts of attention

Like your lips – luscious and light

I wish that my own were laid upon the length of my love

Between bare breasts

Languidly lying on your neck

Slowly climbing the steeples of the sanctuary of your face

Until my lips meticulously measure out each moment meeting with your own

Each press and caress a count in the cadence of our cavatina




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