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Click hereIt is the golden hour
that keeps this man lingering
season after season.
The soft color hue of your skin,
draws the necessity out of me
in white blooms, a
feverish harvest.
Sweat soaks me through
When I attend to you
in the spare moment, lay in your white valley tender, long ready to plow with my eager and ruddy tool.
A simple twist of the nipple,
motion like a butterfly screw
quickens the travels,
gushing and velvety, rubbing jean-clad until we arrive at our work,
tongue and bite, slashing at a soil,
dark and milky as clouds breaking over the acres.
Drenched; tilling away.
Together, unfurling the sun.