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Nat Lipstadt
Poems
Dec 2013
Sunday Morning Breakfast
hand-caresses all over the chest,
****** licking and pinching,
tickling the belly with a solitary
tongue-wetted finger.
in someone's possession,
the
on/off switch,
seems to be
busted.
so when
a pause to breathe,
asking me what does
one want for
breakfast,
I answer Her,
*"Please sir, I want some more."
Written by
Nat Lipstadt
M/nyc
(M/nyc)
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