There’s still a hint, of your scent, down in
these sheets, I can’t bear to bring myself to wash,
away the stains, that you and I have ground and slaved.

With each drop of sweat, to make these sounds and
tastes, that haunt me every day, that you’re not
here, alone, without your skin, from head to toe

And I am a wreck…

This language of lust, your lips, against my neck
and your nails, dug in, scratching away the flesh, drawing
blood, which you cannot get enough, and your legs, wrapped
around my spine, never cease this release, and it’s just
too fucking far away!

And I am a mess…

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