Saturday 18 April 2015

Poetry on papernapkins

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The dent of your dimple
is the size of my fingertip,
it fits perfectly snug
when I touch.
I lick whipped cream
off of my upper lip,
and I watch you watching me,
a smile,the edges of your mouth crease.
you smell like soap and aftershave
mixed with the aroma of coffee beans
I smell like dogs and old books,
mixed with the scent of somewhere you've been.
I read your body English,carefully,
there is nobody else I'd want to be next to.

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