(no subject)

[treeskin]

One of the joys of having my own house is that I can leave slightly naughty poems on the fridge for Byron to find, and not worry about what my mother would say. Sometimes, it's good to be an adult.



last night's sweetness
distracting
reliving the moment of penetration
breats tingling at the memory
of his hands on my skin
on my lips
my taste on his fingertips
hips eager below mine
heat, rising between my legs
gliding
until we touch
completely