On the soap dish still for forgetfulness,
Once whole, now lathered down to a sliver,
Too slender to evoke the erotic,
You slip through fingers and toes unpurposed.
Warming sudsless water rushes across
Smooth skin freckled with golden sun kisses
Crossing tendrils that navigate a path
That spirals in and through my neverland.
Oh! little sliver that you were my tongue,
I would pause at each hollow and valley,
Connecting each mark one to another,
Savoring the taste of your skins’ long day.
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