Our Glass of Sand

Pushing on past the distinction and space
To be touched by fire her radiant embrace
Chest to breast both our hearts synced in a race
Never wanting to ever leave this place

Scent of her hair ear lobe cool to the touch
Loins rushing red my lips about to brush
Breathe quickened now body soon to combust
This must not only be given to lust

Running fingers down her arms to her hands
Our eyes locked in smile lingering in stand
As if we were part of something banned
Time is all present in our glass of sand

© 2010-2011  Michael Yost   booguloo@live.com

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