iambic bambambience

She seemed so immediately beyond my grasping tongue and curious fingers
finding crevices hidden from sin. Doctor says we are all made purely or
somewhat so, of flesh and bone with room to grow. invite you in to teach me
to show, to growl and simper and wheeze, gasping, pleading for your tongue’s
return to the sideways posturings of indelicate men who wish nonchalantly to
tie your wrists together with string and hear you scream. We crept on
slinking. Writhing naked hot sweat sweet. How we are to transform our heads,
minds, skulls. Not even politically just matter of
factor-ly pushing you down in the sand. mm.

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