A Disgrace by Armrests

Oh, how nice it feels
may I confess, a moment
of warmth as your
leg casually leans
on my thigh.

My dear, we sit an
armrest apart, and
between the seats a
war blooms, yet
the skies remain clear
as long as you continue
to touch me so.

Alas, the play,
I do so repent. Forgive
me muse for not playing
my part to appreciate
the outward displays of art.
But you must understand, I beg
you please, to find in your
gracious hearts to forgive me
with my dear.

Grace his body with a
graze of my hand.
Noble art, is this.
Divine meditation to
lie with my heart.

Forgive my mind, imagining
ahead of time as at
the present of space, our
bodies divided but by his
simple touch.

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