Her breath stirring expectant leaves that
whisper sweetly under warm
hymns of the cicadas
Building higher and more majestic her
voluptuous cumulus rises in a shuddering sigh
her face growing dusky with growing ardor
her ragged gasps ringing hot against my cheek
Thunderclap of her climax and silver rain laughing down
on this withered land, quenching my parched lips.
I turn my face to the sky and laugh against her humid thigh.
-Frank H. Weeden
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