There he sits, next to me
Face glued, mind engaged in a magazine.
His left hand crests my sore upper thigh
And I wish we were married

His mouth swells with silent words
His intelligent brain is surfing the page in front of him
Behind big ocean colored eyes
That are sailing over the letters.

His hand is moving slower over my knee now
But his fingers are sending ripples through my body
And a storm is beginning to rage in me
I wish we were married.

The ripples that have now become waves
Are finding refuge in secret coves that I never knew existed
And now I'm drowning and now I'm being carried off.
I never knew what a typhoon felt like until now.

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