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When you boil it down
We are all simple
Carbon molecules bonded
And agonizing to bond
With the structures of another
I read all your Missives, Sweet Moochie, you know this as we have talked about it before. And like some of them, this missive seduced me! I smiled lewdly and thought, "Could this be her?" Had she escaped from your past? When I saw the picture of her/you - then I knew. So, with a little laugh, I squeezed my breasts deliciously, and read on...I still think of her:
Should I paint my lips rouge?
Show more here, like she did?
Did she get the responses,
The interest
That special something an exhibitionist craves?
No.
The thing is,
She isn’t me anymore.
I know that much.
I know I don’t care for the amorphous crowds.
I know I need just one to be happy.
I know that I’ve buried her well.
I know that she is under mountains of dirt
In a hole shaped especially for her.
I know she won’t make me happy anymore,
If I pulled her out:
She’s in that hole for a reason.
But sometimes.
Just sometimes...
When I feel her lust
Creeping up,
Like a drug entering my system
Through a drip on tko...
I have that need
To feed her.
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I am savoring this:
The memory of you,
Your kiss,
Tongue tracing a line down my neck,
I lay writhing beneath you,
Your right hand finds my left,
Intertwined fingers,
And your teeth
Find their way
To the top of my breast...
How the memory
Comes flooding into my brain
Whenever I see this
Beautiful mark you’ve left me.
It is blossoming,
Turning the beautiful colours
That broken surface capillaries
In a highly vascular place do
When they spill into surrounding tissue
Until rerouted.
I am blessed,
By what or who - I’m unsure,
But I feel it.
Anyone who has what we do
Would be wrong to feel otherwise.
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I still think of her:
Should I paint my lips rouge?
Show more here, like she did?
Did she get the responses,
The interest
That special something an exhibitionist craves?
No.
The thing is,
She isn’t me anymore.
I know that much.
I know I don’t care for the amorphous crowds.
I know I need just one to be happy.
I know that I’ve buried her well.
I know that she is under mountains of dirt
In a hole shaped especially for her.
I know she won’t make me happy anymore,
If I pulled her out:
She’s in that hole for a reason.
But sometimes.
Just sometimes...
When I feel her lust
Creeping up,
Like a drug entering my system
Through a drip on tko...
I have that need
To feed her.
![]()
When they can’t sleep,
Do sheep
Count sheep?
They count people counting sheep.
When they can’t sleep,
Do sheep
Count sheep?