winter lifted her hems
wearing her daffodil-yellow panties
above blossoming thighs,

such stirrings and
yearnings she needs to be
touched by another,

by her own hand
a touch so familiar awakens
the sap from the roots,

the touch of another
tendrils slip under her fabric,
the cotton pressed lightly

and pattern explored
a promise of spring conjured
magically out of thin air,

she needs to be touched
a promise unveiling a wave
a surrender untamed,

the way that her hands,
his hands and their hands
trace the fine lace

feeling not seeing she
closes her eyes knowing touch
is an inhale away,

her lines and her curves
her hidden reserve with hints of
her moistening warmth,

she’s drawing them further
a feeling of drowning under
her ocean-blue skirt

being raised it reminds her
of waves rolling over the strand
their clawing retreat

still desperately gasping
for air til the turbulence grips
once more undenied,

the freshness of new
of material soft giving easily wanting
to know and be claimed,

smoothly down hips
pressed against thighs undeterred
a daffodil-yellow exposed

biting her lip hearing birds
as they slip past a window wide
open they’re watching

she mutely surrenders
her offering tenderly stripped with
her discarded leaves.


© Emmaleela


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