Women Kissing Women

Kiss, stroke, squiffle, squaffle,
We're so intimate,
You can't tell honey from the waffle
That we incubate,
Until the time arrives to pause,
And look around;
To see excited gentlemen,
Who'd really like to pound
Our sassy, sexy, saucy bodies,
If they stay depraved,
The strokes these folks
So want are jokes
That will not be engraved,
On all the passion that we fashion,
As each squaffle's squiffed,
As we fondle and you ponder
How bliss provokes each kiss.

Méli :heart:
 
What would he'd think if I was to let on
That when he's close to me, I think of you?
The music in my heart may play along,
But you so magnetise me, I am through
With this continuation of all he's shared,
That mean that he can strip the love that's yours;
He wants me so, and I may not be spared,
Until he's had me and must rest; this pause.

Gives us the chance that we both need and crave
He wants my trust, but does not know I prize
Your tenderness: love's brittleness - a lathe
Could not cut us apart until his eyes
Are open once again, and he wants more;
He'd take me, but it's you who I adore.
 
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