She Could Freeze – She’d Rather Melt


So what’s the next thing on your lips? The word could be leave or silence might come up from your lungs screaming, “Give me something to hold on for.” I could write moans across your body Hemingway couldn’t put into phrases; Sex for salvation you’re your own saviour – My hands broke the bread.

If you were to speak now, I wonder how many sighs of ecstasy would be necessary as I grip your thighs. Would any number be overdoing it? Let’s overdose; I know fear when I see it stalking in the corner of someone’s eyes, and baby that’s not it roaring in yours.

Look what’s hanging now – Anticipation herself on the precipice, begging; Kisses upon your navel to resurrect every nerve cell that thought it would never be touched lightning hot, boom – Thunder, I’ve already struck. The next thing on your lips will be, “More!” followed by me. There is no such thing as enough

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