Thirst

Your fingers know
just how to make
me thirst and
shake.
And I scream, "I'm
parched, I'm parched, I'm
parched."
And you move
like water, gliding
over the slick curves of
the rocky bed of
me ever so
gently. But then,
you push, you pull, I thrash
in the
ravenous rapids of
you.
I tremble, my cheeks
flush with this
force, this newfound
aggression;
I lust.
The water trickles trickles
down
down my throat
and I want
more.





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