Pink and perfect mystery

Pink and perfect mystery
to which I ply my finger,
she ripens so exquisitely
the longer that I linger

and fluff the modest blossom
with my gentle loving hand,
teasing, ever pleasing
so that now I understand

how beautiful the flower
that yields without duress,
blooming now so fully
in the warmth of my caress.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe

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