The blush comes to the surface
Slowly eroding the pale,
Subtlety of skin.
Alive, still passing for it, living
Every moment between
Brush strokes of soft,
Fine hair.
Neither the hard bones,
Nor the soft skin,
Nor the breaths that skim time
Against your soft,
Cascading lips,
Will interfere.
What silences me here
Will have us talking
When time runs out.
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