Jeans

You pull your jeans up
around the foothills of my desire
Zipper closes my glorious sight
and opens my mind.


So perfectly close to me 
spooned together.
My hands trace your curves
winding up in the soft, warm
mounds and valleys of your passion.


The seam of your jeans cuts 
through the valley.
Your pockets mock me 
planting their flag upon you.


You tuck your shirt 
into its prison.
Work you must..
this ten-hour term.


But, I'll be back...
to claim the land
and rip the denim flag
from those soft hills.



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