The tip of a nose skimming down my throat,
While peeling off my winter coat;
Lips on mine, leaving me gasping for air,
As fingers form a fist in my hair;

Insistent hips pinning me to a wall,
Hands cradling my legs so I don’t take a fall;
The scrape of a cheek inside of my thigh;
The sound of a moan morphing into a sigh…

None of these, for me, exist in actuality,
But all of them, my interest pique.
And when I imagine them all with you,
Those very thoughts, they make me weak.

2 thoughts on “Weak

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