Apéritif 1: An End to Impatience

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Last night I dreamt of your hand splayed across my waist;

Fingers grasping gently at my hip; breath skipping past my cheek. 

[redacted]

 

There's a certain beauty to the dance we've orchestrated:

Desire tempered by restraint,

tempered by impatience.

 

I'm done waiting.

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