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Instead

I do not want to breathe.

Instead,

bury me between your legs,

filling my mouth with

muffled sound

and all the fertile loam of your desire.

Drown me in the taste of sex,

pouring yourself out over me

like hot spilled wine,

and holding tight my breath

beneath your drenching cries.

Let me ache inside your time,

untouched

and smothered at the edge of light,

until your fingers

have dug long furrows in the headboard

and every tremor has become

a ripple through your skin.

Then,

when all your cells have screamed and you have

fed me to your heart,

let me have my breathe again.

I will want it then.

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