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(13)
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #1109456
...it was the most simple, form of touching...


Without a word,
without a sound,
his lips brushed my face,
he moved me,
he touched me,
fingers worn,
hands calloused,
touching me as though they were made of silk.
he saw me,
he loved me,
with just a glance,
with just one dance,
he caressed me.
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