Because your salt is honey, thick and slow—
a dark syrup I swallow whole,
not one drop lost to sheets or chin.
Because when you groan, I open wider,
let the pulse of you flood my throat,
a worship without spillage.
Because I am greedy.
Because I want it all—
the twitch, the heat, the last shudder
melting like stolen candy
under my tongue.
Because your pleasure is too precious
to wear as a mask.
I’d rather drink you clean.
One response
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I feel the same way about that…
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