Sucking What Slides

A hard frost has killed off the tomatoes and left a chill in the house.

I like the silence of a cold morning, sitting alone with my tea.

I am not alone, not really, smelling your sweat in this dark cup

Riding a spiral of steam, the scent of your hot skin fills my nose.

I wish I could wrap the steam around my finger like I do your

Wet curls when I find you standing in the steam near a too hot shower

White billowing into the cold bathroom, coating the walls with wet,

With sweat, your skin covered in beads, like clear pearls, waiting to

Adorn my lips and quench my tongue with the taste of you.

I sip, tipping your chin back to suck what slides

Down your decolletage, lick what rolls through the cleft of your breasts,

Swelling with the delight of my rough but languid tongue.

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