Wrap My dreams
in white cotton panties,
for no diaphanous luster is needed
to adorn a treasure already glistening,
the sparkle in My eye.
How darling she becomes
in this simple fabric of innocence nested,
a permeable portal that breathes with her,
pants with her,
seeps with her.
Woven of soft, fluffy clouds
and gentle summer breezes,
they feel to My pressed cheek
like warm sheets� welcome in winter�s cold,
like terry-cloth rescues from the storm,
but most like a serviette unfolding
for My babygirl feast.










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Poemission
Fruits of the Loom










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