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19h
Let my fingers trace her skin,
Carving paths only we’ve been in.
Lose yourself as we collide,
To find each other deep inside.

My tongue a poet, her body the page,
Writing verses of passion, igniting a stage.
Kissing her hard, left bruises remain,
Her pleasures ache within pain.

Taste her need as she she take mine too,
In a desperate dance, raw and true.
Not softly, not shyly, but we play it safe,
Marking her boldly with our embrace.

Take me like freedom’s last fleeting call,
Break me apart, but rebuild it all.
I don’t want careful—I crave divine,
An unforgettable chaos where our souls align.
Styles
Written by
Styles  NYC
(NYC)   
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