(Y)our sins were boiling atop a gas stove, the steam rising from the pot wrapping itself around me and binding me to your words.
With your head resting between my thighs, I offered you my submission.
With a flick of your tongue, you accepted it, revelling in every tremor that ran through my body.
"God is love but Satan does that thing with his tongue that you like."
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Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
