The Ticking Of The Clock

The clock ticks, and rings a chime,
A signal of the passing time.
The night outside is brisk and cold,
But here we are, and you I hold.

Quiet words of passion and love
Wing from lips like a graceful dove.
Hands fly over bare body and skin,
Pausing gently above your chin.

As we speak though, the night is fading,
Nature takes hold, she does no waiting.
We kiss again, wishing we could stay
Instead of leaving to face the day.

by Anne Rhitak

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