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Click hereWith a simple flight of fancy
she jets off to some exotic place.
Some dreamlike space
where sins are forgiven
and vices played with vigor
and style. She smiles
with thoughts on anything
but the mundane task of folding clothes.
Whose underwear does she fold today?
Or is it her's,
once tangled loosely
binding her ankles
while he pounded home his need,
her desire.
In some primal form of lust
where foreplay is limited to torn clothes
and forced penetration;
lubrication, his spit
dripping down her leg
as she feels her body crushed
upon the table
and leg muscles burn
from the stretch.
That's not all he stretches.
His impact leaves bruises
she'll find soon enough.
At least by tomorrow.
Not that she cares
now.
Back to the now
as the phone rings just shy
of her desire. Laundry to fold.
where the mind wanders while doing something mundane like folding laundry. This was an excellent way to get into the erotica. I could have done without "That's not all he stretches," which seems slightly vulgar in an erotic poem that is otherwise surprisingly delicate. I gave you a five, but you should also get a spanking for not fixing some of the proofreading errors, like "her's" instead of "hers" and the wandering verb tenses. But you'd like that, wouldn't you? :D
Nice to read you again, my friend. xo
would have preferred more of a leap, less lead,
Not that she cares
now.
Now, as the phone rings
just shy of desire (her is redundant, implied.)