Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Touching your cool
Bronze skin
Coursing my fingers
Like a reader of Braille,
Silently in the dark
In our sanctuary
Behind locked door,
Over friendly, familiar territory

Picturing what other senses perceive
Smooth and coarse,
Muscle rippling under my hands,
Warm where I travel,
Linger, twirl

DRAFT - Started 2/8/05 16:30

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