Obsidian
The color of a heart left out in the sun
Sticky like glue
yet liquid when mixed with the oil of a probing finger
I sit at the bedside
gazing at the shipwreck I so fondly remember
Marvelling as the shadows dance foxtrots on her curves
My oh My
What a pleasure it is to be near her ocean
and to feel
the breeze
of her breath
on my
neck
again
.
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