Poetica 27

I love it every time you walk past in denim.
Ample apple bottom finds me on my knee.
You turn around and rip off my cotton shirt.
Smiling because you finally caught on to my plans for the hour.
You let your satin knots and lingerie slip to the floor.
I’m certain the spot you’re sat in is already soaked.

We fall on the bed and in silk bedsheets I finally sink into you.
We’re one with the fabric as your ecstatic scream materializes.

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