Than looking down, holding his curly locks
where his lips met hers, yet not in kisses
but kisses, not the ones we hear
In her moans and the wild cries
Her drench would quench her lover's sighs
In his reach,at passion's peak
She would shudder and shake awry
When She had fed Their fill
She would calm her now weak will
He would look down upon her a while
As he lay buried between her thighs.
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