Her breasts,
Like throw pillows.
Smothered me,
The twinkle in her eye
Said her brain was still functional,
She smelled like
Rain soaked lilacs,
And somehow,
Something wrong,
Seemed extremely right,
Her face angelic, wicked,
Her smile, piano key perfect,
Her laugh, mischievous, manic,
Her kiss, a warm bath,
The wine was welcome
But no longer needed,
For passion was enough.
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