Curled up,
a petite raconteur,
the tangerine jewel
in his mother-of-pearl belly button
she mingled with the dainty dander,
salvaged bits of his sloughed off skin.
Sometimes
she gratified her desire
hiding in the crease
of his reticulated thigh;
safe in his scent,
knowing intimately how he's made,
she'd get off on his femoral thrum.
Making herself smaller still,
she passed through his porcelain pores,
bathed in vermilions of blood,
joined with the slippery lymph
intumescing every cell.
No immunity from her fluid caress,
he felt her sparkling like gallium
his marrow congealed, itched,
refused to host
even the most picayune intricacy.
What seemed to her
a world in him
seemed to him
a house too small,
a heart with insufficient chambers.
all he desired of her--
The pearl her variegated laughter grew
beneath his fluttering eyelid. .
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