Our Glass of Sand

Pushing on past time and space
Touched by fire with her radiant embrace
Chest to breast, hearts synced in a race
Never ever wanting, to leave this place

Scent of her hair ear, lobe cool to the touch
Loins rushing red, our lips about to brush
Breathe quickened now, soon to combust
These feelings must not only, be given to lust

Fingers running down, her arms to her hands
Our eyes locked in smile, lingering in stand
We were almost part of something banned
As time stood still for a moment, in our glass of sand

©2011 Michael Yost

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