Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Inside, by Sylvia Parker

Inside are achings for pleasure colliding
swiftly with what mystifies and arrests attention then lets it go. Where? I want to ingest you but not to devour to touch in a way lightly that calls you to meet me in dark corridors in struck moments lit by breaths, kisses awakened deeply letting fly ghosts in fluttering vibrations rising through spines, throats flowing easily meeting in tensing and opened muscles holding onto warmth eyes flaring as recollections of feeling pass behind then through them and join the exchanging soft damp perimeters intently known remembered and exploded.

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