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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Are we emptied?

Who emptied?

Where once
I could trace
a finger
down her spine,
the valley
where her
pleasure button lay,
my finger, aged
by creeping time,
is crooked,
and unsteady moves.

She lies
sleeping now,
her spine rusted
by time's cruel touch,
and movement thus
is all too much.

Is it snow
that falls?

Or is it us
thus falling?

Succo del sesso,
we played
the games
of foreplay,
and mouthed
the nightly juices
of her vessel's joy,
and mine
and hers
as the game ensued.

All was love
or lust
or both
and all
was hot
and all seemed glued.

Submitted: October 08, 2016

© Copyright 2021 dadio. All rights reserved.

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