May 2015
You’re soft. Smooth.
And yet you want me to break you.
You want my hands engraving red marks into your skin.
Your sweet, soft skin.
I cannot.
But not because I don’t want to.
And yet you want me to break you.
You want my hands engraving red marks into your skin.
Your sweet, soft skin.
I cannot.
But not because I don’t want to.
