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riding a railcar
Folder:
little bird over your hips
and through
the wilderness
in the dance of night
to the music of withering
highs and low sweetness
i want it slow
with your fingertips
meandering through
a tactile symphony
and in the heat
the torch of the moment
your sleek slender hips
edging to the samba
my hand
on the small
of your spine
pressing
but perhaps holding
the flex of your universe
the click clack of thighs
as the engine pulls
into your tender
station
