Tuesday Morning Madness
Close, your sweet smell invades the senses.
Your presence mouth-watering, skin blushed,
anticipating.
Finger feathers trace your dimpled skin
noting, identifying, each bruise, each scar
squeezing, flesh yielding to the touch,
Until
Slow, piece by piece, you are unveiled,
exposed. Juices spurt, coating fingers,
your smell sharper, pungent, urging onwards.
Until at last, ungarmented
you sit lace creamed, hinting,
caressed once more
before
splitting open for
delight.
Resistance
futile.
Longing,
yearning,
Your body unlocked juice filled flesh.
Pulled apart, snapped open seen
Myriads of sweet teardrops ready
explosions for my tongue.
Consuming, biting, sucking, wanting, wanting.
Sweetness.
Bursting fireworks inside.
Fulfilled.
Forever
My Orange
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