How mystical they are.
Sleek and lengthy, they seduce me.
Thoughts soar how artistic they would be
When they trace every contours of my sensuality.
Those fingers.
How magical they are.
They entwine in mine, infusing me with verve.
Those fingers.
How clairvoyant they are.
They write poetry in leisure.
Clearing dense forests,
They bloom my flowers.
Those fingers are ferociously tender.
How I crave for their indulgence.
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