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Click herewith flyguy69
Imagination flares as she pictures
who could be hidden in the steamy room;
gray spectre, wrapped in rolling mist.
His breath uncoils in vaporous tongues
chilling her as it touches her and yet
moving her to step closer; to reach out
with fingers of trembling foam, to find
in the pliant fog his hardness, jutting
towards her like a ship's prow
moving purposefully through the fog.
Slicked palm slides over bone, curls
on moist skin. She raises her blade
leaning back on the cold tile and
with eyes glittering hands it to him
Jaw set firm he tests the edge, draws
steel on skin, and clears whiskers from his cheek.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 36,000 poems.
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for it dawn on me what this is about. Love it. This is really good with some great lines.
I had great fun writing this with Boo. This was a last minute decision based on banter on the "crapola" thread that delved into shaving and innuendo. Somehow, we found poetry there!
Fly