We have fallen into the placewhere everything is music.The strumming and the flute notesrise into the atmosphere, and even if the whole world's harpsh...uld burn up, there will still behidden instruments playing.So the candle flickers and goes out.We have a piece of flint, and a spark.This singing art is sea foam.The graceful movements come from a pearlsomewhere on the ocean floor.Poems reach up like spindrift and the edgeof driftwood along the beach, wanting!They derivefrom a slow and powerful. The moment seemed to last a year before reality returned. Vaguely I realized that even in the kiss, his hands had not wandered, no sneaky grabbing of my boobs or backside. Was that a faint hint of disappointment that I felt? I moved my own hand down, squeezing his backside gently, and he smiled, finally caressing my butt and pressing me into him.I could feel the bulge in his trousers and knew he was feeling horny. I had never made a man feel horny before, not that I knew of. It felt good. I. More

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