Maybe in Another Life

She is a feast of soft lines and deft nooks,
a heaviness of promise and allure.
Our silent promises cannot be kept.
A sharp look of agreement
would cut through the hearts of all.
Promises we have already made
keep us honest and bereft.




(top:; bottom:

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in eroticism, family, Humans, Poem, Sex, Woman and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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