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Brown Peach Flavor Skin Blues For Slow-Hand Willi Washington

In an instance, I felt a calmness sweep across my body. My body free of any restriction. Her being my release. Sweet liberties Utilized by the touch of lips. A period punctuated by perched lips. Released in ounces of color. The way she loved. My tongue swirled around hers. Fingers wrapped around her waist. Brown peach flavored skin. My addiction a place for her to stay, Her bag broken down; piece by piece. A home away from home. Until the day she left. I consulted family, I reached out to friends. They say that she's no good They say leave her be. Truth be told My vacancy left colorless. Bland. My tree grown fruitless Revealed to me in bitter hunger. The realization of perception. Nothing left to fill my hands. This vacancy punishable by death. A climax filled by her alone. My fingers around her waist. Her love sticky, sweet. Swirling around my tongue. My eyes left low Anticipating her return. They say that she's no good They say leave her be. Truth be told I haven't spoken to them since
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Written by
kewayne-wadley
37 / M
Published
Dec 5, 2018
Lines·Words
37·181
Tags
#love#sensual#heartbreak#blues#marijuana#skin#hurt#addiction#poetry#pain
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