Pushing Past the Soft

Your fingers
move,
glide,
twirl
against my skin
as if you’ve never touched
something so delicate,

but I can feel
the fire
fighting against
the soft,

the need
pushing past
the pretense

and you grab me,
your strong hands
going to work
on my hot desire

and we are a mess,

a disaster made of
craving and words,
flesh and forgetting.

We join
in the sweetest way
while the yearning rips
from my lips,
for I am yours.

Here.

Now.

I am yours.

~Patience

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