Awkward. Perfect.

Trembling hands, throat dry
Stammering tongue, shying eyes
Words spoken but not quite right
Awkwardness makes this a fight

Yearning desire, hopeful heart
From our lips this act impart
Soft moist skin with such sweet taste
Time starts the heart apace

A breath in time, wanting more
Feelings I've never felt before
Relief washes over in silent reflection
How could we have feared such natural perfection?


The End

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