on 20375

you'd think it were the gloves
where i would starta slow trail
i gasp and exhale slowly though
realizing the curve in your wrist's shadow
silhouettes speak loud whispers
of the grace of its owner
i wonder if the bookanswers what pursed lips hide
and that angled gaze
of who enjoys its intent
i nearly cry at where those legs must go
and climb my eyes up the arch of an unshy backbut of course it is those gloves
that bow my headto you, who allow such a peak
at the secrets of kink