life, poetry, sex, sexuality, thoughts, Uncategorized

Blanket Math

Cold moans begin to kiss my back

It’s arched and I groan and my neck goes flat

I fiercely hold onto an old blanket

And find it’s wrinkled like blank pages

I sting and open my dry mouth wide

While my stomach turns around to hide

Sweating and moving in rhythm

Can’t seem to forget that I love him

Heated nothings lukewarm on my throat

Someone wraps around me like a coat

Sitting in silence is the only cure

The blanket, wrinkled, is my lure

Goosebumps even though it’s eighty

Hot as hell but this someone’s eyes are shady

Too tired to move, too dry to laugh

I repeat the cold, but can’t do the math


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