Close

Your hands
and the water
and your mouth,
God,

your mouth

hovering above my skin
right before you devour me,
taste every part of me.

Your tongue pushing against mine,
as you hold me close,
wanting to be closer,
so there was no air between us

because inside isn’t close enough.

Nothing could ever be close enough,

and I can still feel the jerk of my body
each time you touch me,
each time you enter me,

and I’m trapped now,
sprung on every piece that makes you.
I can’t get away or make it stop.

It was only supposed to be sex
but it’s more.
You’re more.
I’m more.

And there’s nothing to be done
but remember.

~Patience

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