Her Words


Although it's nothing more than empty air,
her words, so kind, caress my skin and mind,
I ask, "Caress me sweetly more my dear."

I see no guises harbored, hidden here.
She gives to me a warmth right down my spine,
with only nothing more than empty air.

My herald calm within my hand of fear,
Until vibrations bring me ease sublime-
I ask, "Caress me sweetly more my dear."

I think, believe, the heart she made appear
is hers, I know, for how could she in mine,
excite with nothing more than empty air?

The thoughts I send the deep amorphous clear,
each word I write will echo 'tween the lines.
They ask, "Caress me sweetly more my dear."

I'd know in time if feelings persevere,
for now our pleasantries all suit me fine.
I know it's nothing more than empty air,
but please, caress me sweetly more my dear.

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