He’s fine with his leaning frame
he’s mine, like something out of a dream
like a vintage wine that’s been but a sample away
His hands bare on my ample hips
his stare does not waver, igniting
the walls of my inside quiver
trembling with tension
in anticipation for the liaison
to rumble and bumble
Lost in my cloud of honeyed rain
with him, who comes forth reigning fire
into the dry wood of my walls
He would ply open
poisoned sweetness
with everlasting mercy,
and all my 3 wishes would be milked ASAP
for a zap from his awakening genie
My remedy, my amnesia
I am the wine. He sips and laps and drinks me in
As though I could assuage his thirst when he finally dips
Try as hard I might
He plunges into my throbbing walls
mercy aside
And yet my heart excuses him
I care not now if he wounds me
I no longer look for mercy

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