One-handed blind bowman

That dance with one hand, on the small of your back.

One hand holding both of yours above your head.

Causing clothes all askew.

Your hip, your ribs.

As we breathe in these few inches.

One hand heading higher,

just thumb and forefinger,

to pinch and pull.

And I grasp that gasp, to nock tongue on lips and close our eyes.

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