mr gone and just
locked like cuffs, like lust on sight
hands high north, head on south
a passion so deadly with no ear to listen
shuffling ever so softly on the floor
like a deer in the headlights you gasp at the sheer contact
huffing and puffing at each and every thrust
wrists biting and tears stinging your eyes from despair
your pleas are voiceless, powerless against the onslaught of this two-faced pleasure
just like you, a glorious onset of words and emotions emerges from him
gently cleaned you are of his evidence and your innocence
by a kiss of ivy on your face to close you
and away he walks with you…
much like reading a book, isn’t it so?
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