The Mustache
An afternoon
Of languid desire
Alone,
Yet with you.
We
Texted
Of word and work,
Weather and
Whether to
Take that quick nap;
Wished
'You were with me'.
Slow long kisses,
Warm clutching hugs,
Squished breasts,
Ticklish beard.
Feverish embrace,
The primal dance,
A sweaty mingle,
Breathless tangle,
Your wavy locks,
Caught in my curly longs.
We exchange
Each a picture.
I send one without my shirt on;
And you pouting with a mustache
Of your whorly inky hair.
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