something about the way
you make silk bend to your whim
makes desire
bubble over
like frigid champagne over the rim of a glass
your legs already
stole softness from the flesh of clouds
and now
they steal reason from me
in slow fingertips daubing the word 'want'
in every language the heart knows
and the hips speak
your legs
are smoky silk and mocha jazz
when you wear black stockings
music that sings along my skin
as the night drifts past.
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