These thick fingers push into your layers.
Your skirt lifted. Buttons undone. My tongue
swerves as my thumb finds your clit. Deluge stirs
inside you. Floodwaters. For years you clung
to the notion that you were poison. Trysts
turned sour. Friends left. Love was what others had.
“Just ghost shadow,” you thought, “a poltergeist’s
sneer.” Now you’re alive and I the nomad
baptized at your fountain. I’ve traveled through
dangers untold and hardships unnumbered
to find you. You bubble. “Have you bathed yet?”
“No.” “Good. Lemme clean you up proper.” You
grind your cunt and ass until waters stirred.
I can taste your soul through your cum and sweat.