pale thighs clutched

Turning now to the time after closing, stung by the brisk, steamy hot night, air filled with condensing dew. A glimpse of a favored smile, a moment of wanting, of hoping, the flap of a dress in the wind, the glimpse of her pale thighs clutched at the crotch with cotton.

Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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