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A short poem dedicated to someone special
waiting for the night when I get to show you,
a bit,
of myself,
a careful unwrapping of denim and cotton,
punching into the air of our gathered space.

waiting for the moment to see you again,
and to see a smile that promises, enjoys, and encourages.

waiting for a sigh and the smooth curve of a neck,
or a light dusting of fuzzy hair -
boundaries of cloth are so fragile,
shaping and cupping.

eagerly awaiting the feathering of fingers,
a lick of a thigh.

eager, and waiting, to explode into touch.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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