Grace

Despite all inner conflicts,
a desire still thrives
to taste the oceanic wet of her pale orchid,

to admire and devour that succulent bloom while she twists,
to be the one who holds all of her curves
and softness
and bareness
in my tender, ephemeral possession.

She is set apart.
Her subtlety captivates,
the clarity of her drugged perfume, is striking, fathomless.

Her voice is pulsing in my clit,
carbonating my blood.

I know she does not want my unsteady heartbeat,
my fumbling unfamiliarity,
I am not the first to desire her:
slick, androgynous Aphrodite,

Questions writhe and stretch my heart.
I’m staring too long,
rolling her name around my mouth,
keeping my lips pursed tight.

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About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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