THE COTTON MOLE HILL

I fell into your fingers knuckle crease
As soon as I noticed it
Your hand was lying limp 8 inches below your belt
Past the mole hill
Covering the gap between your legs
I looked and I saw
That precious crease
Caused by your knuckle
And I fell into it
I slid hand first
Then the rest of me followed
Both of us breathing in deeply
There was so much perfumed oxygen
That the two of us men
Had no choice but to exhale loudly
You were thinking things that I could never know
I was lost in your palm
Your limp hand
The hand of the dead
Of the sleeping
I was there never appreciating the silence
I was there loving how my senses were closed
Within this crease
You must have known where I was
What I wanted
For you moved your hand
It was no longer limp
It was alive and turned over
So the creases were hidden
Knuckles showing
You gave your cotton mole hill a squeeze
And we both exhaled loudly

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