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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Yours
My dearest lover, do I long
For Your body to be the ink
By which You mark your lust
My skin is Your blank slate;
Your canvas
Your paper
Your sweet materpiece lay waiting
My vulnerability laid bare
For Your concupiscent thoughts
Do I wish for You to decorate upon
My suggestive flesh now Yours
Hanging by the chains in which I cry
In a frantic plea for You
As You free your animalistic urges
For Your desires to now be satiated
As my jubilation so freely flows
For You, my dearest lover
Do I long to be;
The story in which You write
The art in which You create
For my skin is Your blank slate;
Your canvas
Your paper
For Your body to be the ink
By which You mark your lust
My skin is Your blank slate;
Your canvas
Your paper
Your sweet materpiece lay waiting
My vulnerability laid bare
For Your concupiscent thoughts
Do I wish for You to decorate upon
My suggestive flesh now Yours
Hanging by the chains in which I cry
In a frantic plea for You
As You free your animalistic urges
For Your desires to now be satiated
As my jubilation so freely flows
For You, my dearest lover
Do I long to be;
The story in which You write
The art in which You create
For my skin is Your blank slate;
Your canvas
Your paper
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