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Jennifer Gordo Poem
Whispers from lips as innocent as brush fire, dance with these words, they're mine to lead with.
Spin me around, dip me, into your Desires. Your demand is to be followed, yet my compliance will lead the way.
Grace in that moment, power in the next, your hand leaves my waist and leads by choreographed restraint.
In my hair, around my neck, the hushed demand to follow what's next. To remain obedient in this number, if I fall out of step, the desire to succeed will appear, red marks a reminisce. Counts to remind you who's steps your dancing.
Tilted chin, eyes up for direction, parted lips, betraying hidden longings of acquisition.
Direction is given, these steps are traced, repeated for good measure, replaced with pleasure.
This song is new, whispers of suggestion follow the chorus.
I'll let you lead, I'll be the good debutante, hold me under your control, while I melt into your every direction.
But must we remember, this number is mine, I chose to dance.
Copyright © Jennifer Gordo | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Jennifer Gordo Poem
There is a vulnerable strength in needing a man not to take care of you, but to care.
The need of his desire to know you in all your pieces.
To need to see that carnal spark when you slip out of the days stresses and into his arms.
The need to feel his hands on your body
To need to wake in the night and feel his quiet warmth beside you
The need to feel his palm on the low of your back, a reminder of his guard.
To need his hands in your hair, brushing it away from the eyes he loses himself in.
The need to know you contain both his strength and his weakness
The need to rest your head on the chest that holds your heart.
Copyright © Jennifer Gordo | Year Posted 2016
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