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Him
An ash blaze scours your head.
The ice kaleidoscope of your eyes burns into my soul.
The hardened touch of gentle hands scars my body.
The piercing touch of his tongue abuses my lips.
My knees weaken. His smell, musky, tainted with Armani.
The torture continues. You’ve pull me into your destructive embrace.
Shocked with electricity, you whisper
I can satisfy you.
© Sandra Denise Jensen
5 November 2007
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