paulinsomerset
Virgin
- Joined
- Nov 9, 2007
- Posts
- 8
while I am not PAUL C I thought I'd take the opportunity to post the odd poem from years ago when the earth was young. From my days as the administrator of a Nursing and Rest home.
Mollie.
Sitting in her chair Mollie runs her fingers through her hair.
People passing by must pity her for all she ever does is stare.
His body pressed to mine.
His hardness deep inside.
His movements, his sighs.
The wonderful light in his eyes.
No man had ever kissed a woman as he did.
No woman had ever been touched as he did.
No two people had ever been joined as we did.
No couple had ever reached the heights that we did.
Sitting in her chair Mollie runs her fingers through her hair.
People passing by must pity her for all she ever does is stare
Mollie.
Sitting in her chair Mollie runs her fingers through her hair.
People passing by must pity her for all she ever does is stare.
His body pressed to mine.
His hardness deep inside.
His movements, his sighs.
The wonderful light in his eyes.
No man had ever kissed a woman as he did.
No woman had ever been touched as he did.
No two people had ever been joined as we did.
No couple had ever reached the heights that we did.
Sitting in her chair Mollie runs her fingers through her hair.
People passing by must pity her for all she ever does is stare