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