Mountain Prose by PJ

Come Touch Me

She sits upon the dusty table
waiting for my eye to see.
Waiting for my mind to wander, 
over close to her.
Come touch me
cries the voice of one,
who lays unfinished on the lathe.
Waiting like a naked woman.
Waiting in the bed for me.

Its been so long, 
and now I go to her 
and touch her once again.
I wet her skin to slide about 
her curves to bend.
Such ecstasy I know
while touching this new life of mine.
I wonder why I waited so 
to come and sit beside the table
That holds heart and life's work of making women 
out of the earth.




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