Beginning in a fable, an antique piece of art,

A tapestry unfurled for me, in a sky of fading stars.

In the spirit of lust, I shed the carcass of my soul.

Hair like sunset swept over my body.

Lips of velvet grazed me softly.

Here I am again, with this injustice on my mind:

The crime of me not holding you,

The thought of wasted time.

The ruin of me not touching you until you’re begging to be mine.

Your eyes, they melt my chains away, I’m searing.

Your hands are clutching steaming skin and we’re ablaze.

You howl and gasp in the pain you crave,

Your every cheek is warm and red, our every move is quickly

Shooting needles to your upper-inner thigh,

And to the middle of your spine,

That’s now reclined upon burnt, blackened hands,

Bringing you down, and to my side…

Where you can lose your will to speak,

The pressure of this heat, so blinding

The dangling of your feet, the winding

Of those dancing hips in time with mine,

As pillows fall, flaming to the floor

And we meld together seamlessly, inseparably,

La presión. El calor.

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