Tenderly touch
the softness of my brevity.
Allow your fingers to embrace,
the pink lace to my soul.

With words that stroke
your back, lick your neck
and moan out a metaphor.

Pink trimmed bows on the dimple
of my back-
whispers
for your palms
to turn a page.

Come on, let it engrave
in your frontal lobe.
Leaving you
wanting more

Taste the ink from my well
I know it is inviting
to you,
him.

Let my words shower every
inch of you
cherry waves,
that keep you
aching
clawing at my door.
Crying out:

Please-
let
me
read
you
one
more
time.