We sit in the back seat
And you let me touch it
My fingers coming up moist
As if dipped in Vaseline
But not petroleum gel
But something sweet,
Tasting a little salty
When I lick a little
From my finger
With the tip of my tongue,
I am sixteen again
And ever so hungry
Needing to dig deep
In that space where
My fingers dig
Needing taste it all
Lapping up every lick
Of honey from that dark place,
Needing to plunge in
As deep as I can get
Until everything erupts
Around me
A tidal wave spilling over
That rippled causeway
Until we both scream
From the heat of it.
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