Tremble
In the musk of her
thigh shaped valley
of alabaster glaze
lift my head for perfume
unbottleable
her fingers wrapped in my tangle
hold me where you want
Drinking as the desert
gulps the drop
slithered heat
that comes from deep
as light splinters
in your course
and tremors touch my lips
Copyright © Christopher Quigley | Year Posted 2022
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