Her Thigh

The warm flesh of my palms pressed against
the denim fabric of the jeans over her thighs
Lovingly I close my grip in light massage
and caress the soft thickness while she speaks

My eyes pierce into hers seeing what is unseen
Admiring the beauty of her smooth skin
and how her gorgeous hair hangs about her face
She is beauty incarnate and here my hand is upon her thigh.

My ears receive the lilting sound of her voice
and trace every syllable she speaks in my mind
as the pitch and tone become symphony
I remain mindful that my hand is still upon her thigh.

My nostrils lovingly lift each fragrance from her
I remain ever mindful of her words, image, and touch
The scent of spring and fall rises from her
And I can’t help but keep my hand upon her thigh.

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About ninefolddragon

I am a self-proclaimed writer, spiritualist, and warrior. My primary writings are poetry and essays that evoke elemental visualization and are written in honor of the sacred feminine.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Her Thigh

  1. VictoryInTrouble says:

    Sometimes it’s the simple things we cherish.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. krysiakorsak says:

    …my oh my…such exquisite tantalizing beauty in these words…my oh my…. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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