Ocean
tongues slip through inviting lips
we call it bliss
some call it a kiss
high-fives may go unnoticed,
fading to the background dismissed by sike
but it matters little
we grown accustom to bear grips around
willing hips at night
we skim the glittering, turquoise surface of the ocean
then he bares down…
with eroding submarine like tonsils
sunken deep into forgiving mahogany skin
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– Much love, Esha
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