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Image for post

Squeak into me. Pour the solution in the coldness of the color that never exhales the formidable wit of releasing nutrients around the hole of pleasure.

The writhing sounds of movement that plunges into the artifact that makes the sounds you would muffle with the hips — that quake on command can’t be captivated with the lenses of voyeurs that dement the minds of church-like folk.

The same sexes intertwined with same sexes that aren’t the same — except in the dark. The beams of mercy that won’t ever lay low even when the come of a lifetime is erected with the penises on the screen — secured in a milky way that gives bars of fucks as you astutely recreate the motions for the week ahead.

It’s started and almost halfway over.

You are alive and raw with the feverish onslaught of what to do and what can’t make this New Year seem way more potent than the the ejaculated canvas of awareness and blissful deceit.

Love me heavy and fill my asshole with the slippery dreams of a defunct nightmare that spews the confetti of why your preferred status keeps lungs deep enough to eat the liquid of emancipation.

Stay in love with the bloated butts and the soft burrows of the “O.”

Love the porn you’re in.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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