Porcelain Skin

Our eyes locked

Lip locked

Eye contact to the 

Extreme

His hand, made from porcelain 

Gently brushed 

My olive freckles

Over high cheekbones

And crooked noses

Our eyes locked 

Performing a tango of silent emotion

He whispered a gentle kiss

Over my lips 

And his porcelain skin

Interlocking fingers with my own

Finished the dance

With a subtle dip. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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