To Trace Your Shape

Oh how I long to trace your shape
With inquiring fingertips
From fragile nape to hollow back
I stroke and watch
You stretch and buck.

You come with sighs and tiny moans
Sweet sounds that pull straight through my core
Like keys with strings tuned sharp and loud.
You moan, you pluck,
I clutch your hand.

Your skin so warm, but marble pale
And salted, wet with beads of sweat
And overwhelmed, I drink you in.
Like honey wine,
You taste sublime.

All rights reserved, Alicia Fitton 2018

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