I dream of touching …
In slumber's realm, I find myself free,
To roam the realms of fantasy,
Where dreams and desires, intertwined, entwine,
And longing's flame, burns with a sweet, sweet shine.
My mind, a canvas, paints a vivid scene,
Of her, a vision, so divine, so serene,
I see myself, with hands that gently stray,
Exploring curves, and contours, in a loving way.
I dream of touching, the softness of her skin,
The gentle slope, of her shoulder, and the curve within,
The delicate line, of her neck, and the hollow below,
A place where fingers, might gently come to know.
My fingers, in dreams, they dance and play,
Tracing the outline, of her face, in a loving way,
The curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes,
A topography, of beauty, that my heart implies.
I long to touch, the swell of her breast,
The tender peak, that rises, and finds its rest,
The gentle valley, between, a place to explore,
And the soft, rounded curve, that invites, and asks for more.
My hands, in dreams, they wander, and roam,
Over the contours, of her body, and find their home,
In the secret places, where love and desire entwine,
And the thrill of touch, becomes a sweet, sweet crime.
I dream of caressing, the silky smoothness of her thigh,
The gentle curve, of her hip, and the sweet, sweet sigh,
That rises, like a whisper, from the depths below,
As my fingers, in dreams, they find, and gently know.
In this dream world, I am free to roam,
And indulge my senses, in the sweet, sweet home,
Of her body, and her love, where I am lost, and found,
And the longing to touch, becomes a sweet, sweet sound.
To roam the realms of fantasy,
Where dreams and desires, intertwined, entwine,
And longing's flame, burns with a sweet, sweet shine.
My mind, a canvas, paints a vivid scene,
Of her, a vision, so divine, so serene,
I see myself, with hands that gently stray,
Exploring curves, and contours, in a loving way.
I dream of touching, the softness of her skin,
The gentle slope, of her shoulder, and the curve within,
The delicate line, of her neck, and the hollow below,
A place where fingers, might gently come to know.
My fingers, in dreams, they dance and play,
Tracing the outline, of her face, in a loving way,
The curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes,
A topography, of beauty, that my heart implies.
I long to touch, the swell of her breast,
The tender peak, that rises, and finds its rest,
The gentle valley, between, a place to explore,
And the soft, rounded curve, that invites, and asks for more.
My hands, in dreams, they wander, and roam,
Over the contours, of her body, and find their home,
In the secret places, where love and desire entwine,
And the thrill of touch, becomes a sweet, sweet crime.
I dream of caressing, the silky smoothness of her thigh,
The gentle curve, of her hip, and the sweet, sweet sigh,
That rises, like a whisper, from the depths below,
As my fingers, in dreams, they find, and gently know.
In this dream world, I am free to roam,
And indulge my senses, in the sweet, sweet home,
Of her body, and her love, where I am lost, and found,
And the longing to touch, becomes a sweet, sweet sound.
