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Of Father and the Nun
Breasts,lips and loins the four stations of her cross,
So sacrosanct to a self-definition devoid of self-esteem
The felt bristles of her fedora flagellate her areola
A single scintilla traverses her spine
Her concupiscent self-awareness belied by deadpan stare
Nudity, the only cloak of modesty from appraisingly disapproving eyes
She arches her head touching her soft flax against the fiery nape of her neck.
A wave of heat washes over her back in immolation
Drips of flame rush down between her thighs: her pelvis murmurs with spasms of delight
A man lies supine on the mattress, watching her perfectly bissected image from behind his engorged crozier
He beckons her with a light flutter of his hand as the fedora falls away
Come, he says, come....
So sacrosanct to a self-definition devoid of self-esteem
The felt bristles of her fedora flagellate her areola
A single scintilla traverses her spine
Her concupiscent self-awareness belied by deadpan stare
Nudity, the only cloak of modesty from appraisingly disapproving eyes
She arches her head touching her soft flax against the fiery nape of her neck.
A wave of heat washes over her back in immolation
Drips of flame rush down between her thighs: her pelvis murmurs with spasms of delight
A man lies supine on the mattress, watching her perfectly bissected image from behind his engorged crozier
He beckons her with a light flutter of his hand as the fedora falls away
Come, he says, come....
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