Fucked Up Memory
“It’s just like heaven bein’ here with you you’re like an angel too, good to be true” -Rosie and the Originals Too, good to be true? Huh, must be why I forget I can have you whenever I want? You’re my salt. You make everything better. Salt. Sweat gathered under my breasts. Skin red under my breasts. Titties slapping your ass smacking against my mound. Methodic. Soft-mounds slapping Hard! FUCKEN burlesque ain’t got nothing on these. Don’t make me twirl these bitches! Twirl around my thumb finds your hole worm myself inside your hole, tight brown fade to pink. Eye squinting starring at me. WINK, WINK! Each time I blow. Slow, I dig in slow. My thumb throbs pleasure-pressure pressing down on your spot. I don’t recall childhood growing pains ankles never hurt back no aches Titties? Little avocados overly ripe about to burst. Easily bruised my EGO the stares. Here we go! Get outta your head! They say. Nah, nah, I get’s into my head.