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.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 11:39 PM UTC
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.
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