Down comes the mist

 

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In our cottage overlooking the exotic mountains, we lie in a twist, me and her warm body as down comes the mist.

In response to the cold they enlarge her tits, and in pleasure I clench my teeth and fists. As in her sleep she drifts, she fails to get the jist of my love and longing as down comes the mist.

As we lay bare to the bone, meat to meat, slowly it surrounds us the mist… she shifts and as she rises her body she lifts, her skin to my eyes a treat, as down comes the mist.

She sits and her face towards me she lifts, her kiss comes swift and I accept it. It’s a gift. She’ll always be mine at least, even as down comes the mist.

Words: Francis the Lone Puppeteer

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

 

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