Like
Shoes wear lace.
Tightening the grip around my hips
& the dips of my thighs.
Tracing battle scars up my skin
Like
Tracing river trails on a map.
Into the smooth of my back your fingertips dive
I unravel, uncontrollable,
Your grip loosens.
Index, middle, ring and pinky make inviting motions,
Beckoning,
Summoning me, "Come"
I return back to your hold.
And you squeeze into my soul.
Samantha Blake 2011©
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