Tickled Thumb

He slipped her heart into his denim pocket, brushing her bangs from her purely crafted beauty. He tickled her thumb, with the stroke of his presence; allowing a sense of relief and security to encompass her body. 
He offered his love, with the warmth of his soul. She was broken apart, but he saw her as whole. In great disbelief, as he sat there and stared, at the elegant woman before him. 
Her skin, the symbol of love. Her curves, the crush of his lust. The dimple he desperately seeks, behind tear-covered cheeks, resurfaces as he smothers her with hope.
He gazes down slightly, at her palm, in his hands; caressing her sorrow.

Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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