29 August 2013


All is quiet.
The words flow through my fingers,
from the corners of my mind.
The ink staining the paper as I write 
and find a release for the inner thoughts.
For the questions with answers that I cannot find.
And yet, I think of you. Standing there. 
The look in your eyes, the longing of your body.
The tenderness of your lips and the gentle moans that escape.
And I find myself wishing that the answers would show themselves.
Wishing that you were the answer.

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