Metronome.

by mindracernotchaser

Our sexual desire trumps all. We love with open mouths and open limbs. The way your tongue knew my body. The way you could make me shiver like no other. I got dizzy when your breath tunneled through my ear, like incense in my nose. I was always left wanting more, searching for it, yearning for more. You, inside me, but no where to be found. Love me not because I fit in the coffin you bought her. Sometimes I taste splinters on my tongue from the hole she tore through with her fist. Your pulse became my metronome. Love me not because I fit in your hands, I don’t, never did. And never will. You didn’t like the feeling of something slipping between your fingers.

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