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My lover and I relax on soft alpaca fur and silken pillows before a warming fire.... She traces patterns on my chest, I draw I Love You's on her arm. We are warm, and worn, and sated.... Between soft, lazy kisses in varying locations we talk of love and life and our future together.... We speak of children, choosing names, often laughing, touching love.... Two sons she wants, fine lads, perhaps a painter and a poet and a daughter Just like her mother an intellectual beauty a musician or philosopher, perhaps.... And in time... Speech grows less as we come to remember that often the most beautiful words are those which are not needed the unspoken love between us for which no words suffice, for which even a Pair of Poets are at a loss for words and she nuzzles my chest as I stroke her heavy golden hair softly, gently, slowly....
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Sapphire Skyes and Dragon's eyes... poetry for Sapphire
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