My hands would be content to be employed
With any part of you for any time
Remembering the spots they once enjoyed
Your willing thighs, your begging hips, sublime

My fingers feel the need to be caressed
Between your supple lips and by your tongue
They won’t be satisfied until they’re pressed
Upon that mouth whose work has just begun

And when my hands and fingers find your heat
In all the places touching you gives rise
The passion they’ve untied is incomplete
Though given voice in all your gasps and cries

While time becomes a door to love denied
We press against that door and come inside

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