Sunday, June 26, 2016

rubbing sticks together

She rubs two sticks together
and comes up with an over-
heated me, pressed between
the palms of her soft hands,
rubbing as if I am
the bottle out of which
a genie might emerge,
someone who might grant
her three wishes or the
ability to plunge deep.
I ache all over from
her touch, scalded to
the soul, a contest
winner who does not yet
know the prize I've won,
letting her manipulate
all of me, reshaping me
into whatever she
wants me to become,
moist and desperate
to know she won't ever
stop, begging for whatever
future she intends as long
 as she keeps rubbing,
a regular girl scout
making fire with the slightest

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