I still dream, wish, hope for, permission she might give me,
in some cheap seaside motels, her hands and feet tied, legs and arms splayed,
her whole naked shape exposed, waiting, anticipating the pleasure, pain that
would come next, me, hovering over her, preparing for a kiss of lips, tits, and
the in-between tongue, lashing, each inch of flesh until we are both too typed
to remain gentle, the plunge into the depths, and the pushing into the
imaginary four holes, then the desperate coming – up for air, my dream, wish,
hoping flooding into my head each night as I settled into bed, dreaming,
wishing, hoping she might slip in between the sheets, this imagined journey,
from lips to toes, Tongue lashing her like a whip, leaving no marks save what
we have inside, where all pleasure and pain reside.
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