Running in slow motion,
against the tide.
A quite warmth
and the smells of summer.
I hear your body’s fires,
ready for my touch.
As high as I dare,
and I think you are pleased.
A Loving Touch
Running in slow motion,
against the tide.
A quite warmth
and the smells of summer.
I hear your body’s fires,
ready for my touch.
As high as I dare,
and I think you are pleased.
A Wandering Poet 