There is something about it that begs a caress,
That woos for a stroke and a gentle, soft kiss,
It rasps of virility, roguish and sure,
And possesses its own manly allure.

It yearns for a touch with a cheek pressed just so,
That leaves my skin with a reddish, warm glow,
The sandpaper graze of that potent embrace,
Ah, the feel of a masculine, unshaven face!

 © Aurora Antonovic

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