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...to be loved,
to be held,
safe and warm in loving and caring arms under a full moon,
to feel her breath hot upon my neck in the coolness of late eve,
an eve that transits to the coming dawn.
To be cherished,
being touched in the most intimate of ways,
as she caresses my very soul with her loving fingertips kiss,
fingertips that cascade like rain upon my body,
waiting and begging for more.
In the deserts of a souls wanderings for fulfillment,
there lies a waterjug,
a cistern of her loves waters depths.
Her loves waters,
they are contained in this,
a waterjug fashioned by the abrasive sands of loves trials and tribulations;
its vessel hard as his bodies clay when…