I remember pausing on the round
of your upper-lip...thinking, surely
no round was ever so soft, so finely
appealing. Proceeding over the wing
like curves to edges, feeling as if
in flight, lingering on the lower –
a journey of tastes, and longing...and
then the parting, and divine probing...
Afterwards we laid back, admiring the
stars; each sparkle seeming...
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