deepundergroundpoetry.com
Making Soft Music
His heat rested firm against my cheek.
I wondered if he felt my breath.
My hand drifted across his scrotum to
smooth skin below where my piano fingers
played part of a childhood song.
I softly sang, “falling down, falling down,”
as the tips of my fingers tapped lightly.
I wondered if he knew the melody.
I wondered if he felt my breath.
My hand drifted across his scrotum to
smooth skin below where my piano fingers
played part of a childhood song.
I softly sang, “falling down, falling down,”
as the tips of my fingers tapped lightly.
I wondered if he knew the melody.
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