Written by Steven Fortune
Your very walk is an imprisoned tango awaiting my advancing pardon Your motion is a crimson cotton candy waft shaming sun-defined clouds Your burgundy-enwrapped calves are not a magnet to the glaring of an idle or a humble looker There are eyes and then there are imaginations saddled with insinuations Your anatomy is a majestic elevator lifting me to heated heights Up I go from lower body to bewitching bosom Every pore connecting my pulsating plane of skin erupts in little flushes of unlocked sweat as your presence singes all surroundings into charred irrelevance Advances overlap like tectonic plates signalling a meeting of abrasive rhythms as my royal flushed hand is shown. © 2021
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