Poetica 43

I miss licking maps on your stomach, charting your territories.
Moving up I discover your hills, on their peaks I tell these stories.

We create pools with our bodies, we are soaking the bedsheets.
But it’s the lake within you, whose rivers offer me the best treats.

You whisper that you love me between your caramel thighs.
I scream my agreement as your raise me to favourable skies.

You ride me through waves but you never fall off this board.
Unless the surf’s up and your body screams to be explored.

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