The Patch

Cornsilk
Soft, oh so very soft
as gentle to the touch
as a warm breeze
on a cool cheek.

I caress it
soft and lovingly,
damp but not.
I place my face to it,
aroma declares paradise.

Query soft?
Exquisitely fine
as a gosling’s down.
Sensual tactile
delight.

Long ago,
so delectably yielding.
Still acute,
my longing
cannot abate.

by Duane Robert Pierson

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