Crescent Pink

a poem

Deeply touched between legs,

her pink crescent folds,

open to moist desire,

unleashing pleasure of sinister blues.

 

Trailing familiar lines,

fingers follow furrows, and,

warm, damp rivulets tempting,

secrets, rites and lovers.

 

Moonlight silver beckoning,

soft flesh, blood warm and sweet,

fingers lingering in electric folds,

and her kisses releasing secrets.

 

Below her moon-lit hand,

painted fingers slip, easing slowly,

between folds full and breathing,

deeply, damp, she smiles, luxuriant.     

The End

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