Shackled by her shirt
she
knelt waiting, her
eyes
tight shut to sharpen
her
sense of someone else
entering her space, a
different footfall, a
new
breath, the prickle of
a
strange scent, a sense
of
the tension that
awaits a
new touch.
(Image used by kind permission of
Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The
poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)
Wonderful! "Prickle" and "footfall" are delightfully used, in particular. ~C
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