Sandstorm, Digits Coiling Through

November 5, 2009

Sandy Brown the Locks Wind-Buffeted and Fingers Entwined Her mermaid hair caressed by the gale

I will run my fingers through the locks and when we kiss we will both taste sand and salt;

                                                                                             neither of us will care and Neptune’s hard and heavy breath will excite us so

 

that we’ll be unable to breathe

 when our lips part if they part.
 

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