He’s fine with his leaning frame

he’s mine, like something out of a dream

like vintage wine that’s been but a sample away

His hands bare on my ample hips

his stare does not waver, igniting

the walls of my inside quiver

trembling with tension

in anticipation for the liaison

to rumble and bumble

Lost in my cloud of honeyed rain

with him, who comes forth reigning fire

into the dry wood of my walls

He would ply open

poisoned sweetness

with everlasting mercy,

and all my 3 wishes would be milked ASAP

for a zap from his awakening genie

My remedy, my amnesia

I am the wine. He sips and laps and drinks me in

As though I could assuage his thirst when he finally dips

Try as hard I might

He plunges into my throbbing walls

mercy aside

And yet my heart excuses him

I care not now if he wounds me

I no longer look for mercy

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