A gentle hand, a rhythmic beat,
His touch, a dance, exquisitely sweet.
No bruising grip, no hurried pace,
Just measured strokes, a tender grace.

The rhythm pulsed, a subtle sway,
A whispered promise, come what may.
His skillful touch, a whispered plea,
Awakening depths, set you free.

Each movement precise, a whispered art,
A symphony of feeling, in his heart.
No forceful push, no sudden sting,
Just gentle coaxing, where love takes wing.

His fingers danced, a tender art,
A symphony of passion, in his heart.
A gentle rise, a measured fall,
A love-lit journey, standing tall.

https://www.pesem.si/a/objava/prikaz/186693/nezna_roka

Tomaž Jevšenak