beauty, creative-writing, Love, Poems, poetry


The tips are swallowed into an unending touch of wetness, my hands learn the way to end your silence, it spreads your legs and feels the curve
While your breath changes to warm storms of desire,
I feel the cotton laced covering, the guardian of sensuous modesty.
And in a moment, I slowly feel everything as warm
My hands learn the language of breaths.
Come on, answer me with your eyes.
Should I trace the sinful ends tonight?

© Shashank Bhardwaj


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