Her love is like
well worn gloves -
willow green soft
with supple fingers,
the tips taut
and splitting the cloth
textured like May,
urging me to peel back
the tight weave
and run my hands
under her fabric
and explore her seams.
buttery suede
with crevices like new milk,
bursting the stitches
where I run her threadbare
and smooth
under my heart.
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