Silent Conversations

Our lips collide, necessary and sure.
Two planets careening,
as violently as clouds passing by.

She takes my bottom lip between her teeth
and I let her feast.
She is ravenous and only I can satiate her.

Her hips and butt beg for guidance;
so I oblige, and master her geography
with my palms and fingers.

Our tongues frolic freely,
and soon I sample
the mandarin residue on her neck.

I close my eyes and let the taste linger in my mouth
as her hands become unruly on my chest.
She tastes like 3 a.m. on a rainy Friday night in the city.

Fucking divine.

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