from A Christmas Poem   

. . .Show me once more
how you filled my hands
with a purpose I never found
standing, and why quiet groans
worth keeping can never
be touched with tongues.

The slide of your lips on mine
keeps the distance between us moist.
So come back and slowly
move your fingertips up my legs
until I am hard again
with the passion of stone.

Besides, Christmas is in two
days and it looks like snow.

 

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