28 March, 2007 at 21:50 (Uncategorized)

There is a way for touching,
Wrapping around and moving,
Stroking passion that comes in waves,
Touches and touches again,
Licks and strokes and comes again,
Until we pulse together in this touching, constant touching,
That never moves,
That moves again,
This pile of pulsing, touching selves that comes and comes and comes again,
Wrapped around and moving,
Nothing matters,
Just the sense of gold that comes from this.

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