Traces

I dream of tracing your voluptuous curves

With my fingertips

Trailblazing the way for my tongue

I hear the quiet rustle of fabric

Pulled up and over

Feel the slide of silk

Downy thighs

My tongue remains tied

Eyes downcast

I fixate on your open-toed sandals

Your toes are ruby jewels I think

Nice toes, I say

With a smile

Which you return

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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