deepundergroundpoetry.com
Trace
Fingers trace the curves of his bare chest,
Each touch, a deliberate quest.
In every line, a story unfolds,
In every breath, my longing holds.
The quiet moment, a canvas bare,
Where desire whispers, soft as air.
I find my fire, in the heat of his skin,
In this silent dance, where we begin.
Each touch, a deliberate quest.
In every line, a story unfolds,
In every breath, my longing holds.
The quiet moment, a canvas bare,
Where desire whispers, soft as air.
I find my fire, in the heat of his skin,
In this silent dance, where we begin.
Published 30th Sep 2024
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