pale thighs clutched

Turning now to the time after closing, stung by the brisk, steamy hot night, air filled with condensing dew. A glimpse of a favored smile, a moment of wanting, of hoping, the flap of a dress in the wind, the glimpse of her pale thighs clutched at the crotch with cotton.

Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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