A sinner that craves the sin.
If only his hand could touch onto my skinBeneath the fiery depths of hell,
I bet he knows what he's doing
and I bet he does it well.I imagine his hot breathe on my neck.
His soft finger tips traveling down my back.His grip could be my demise.
To him, I would confess my every vice.To feel his tongue run along my chest
The clothes I'm left wearing, he'd detest.I would want him to touch every inch of me
Do things to drive me wild
Do the things that make me crazy.His feather light touch running up my leg.
I bet he'd be the man who'd make me beg.I'd be all his for the taking.
For this man is undeniably breathtaking.I think it's safe to say,
We know what kind of
mood I'm in.
Ugh.
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Weight of Words
PoesíaPoetry.. For the broken, misguided, mistreated, abused & sometimes ...in the mood.