her mouth is the shape of what

I would imagine a hard fast

spicy hot rush of chili pepper

on my lips as the flush of blood

to the tips of my skin’s senses

an expensive kind of trampy

that tracks the curvature

of my inner perv a vicarious

observer of the scenes unfolding

she’s got the mirror of my nutty

dying to act wild she puts her

lips to my aching and relieves

with her geisha garish dominatrix

tricks of perception she’s roped off

the ends of my wants that tied up inside me

like constricted inhibitions she lashes out

the naughty in a pouty whip

a forceful gushing

rebellious sort of play

of soft and fragile

but bouncy and balanced

so gently between

her legs spread like a surprise

genderlessness if she was both

man and woman she’d be perfect

inviting to dream up the

ultimate wordless paradox

of form and emptiness

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