Sometimes
all I want is your
tongue
lashing against my
pasty-white skin.
Other times
all I want to do is
dive into the depths of
your mind
drown
and leave my phantom remains to
sort out your pieces.
And other times
all I want are
memories of a pasty-white tongue
drowning in the remains of your skin
phantoms of lashings from your mind
and diving into hairy depths of
your pieces.
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