Sultry machines, typewriters.

Yes, really.      Think.

Silken ribbons, sopping in anticipation.

Traces of  wetness left on sheets of white.

Intense, this fluid exchange.


These keys are as blindfolded lovers-

ribbed and longing for touch, they

quiver at the first stroke as hot darts of desire

leap upwards. Arched limbs.

Every finger’s caress intense, leaving

burning, lasting impressions.

In one moment of time.

Never to be repeated.

Then folded, slowly



Copyright Tom Tide 2017





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