the life and musings of a kinky slut


~ a poem ~

I wish we were still friends.

The way you kissed me wasn’t enough.
Even though, with the first brush of your lips,
my eyes closed.
My arms raised, wrapped around you.
Your fingers found my hair.
My knees buckled.
My body relaxed into your arms.
There existed no other world except your lips.
My lips.
Our kiss.
Even though I lost myself in your embrace,
your kisses weren’t enough.

The way you touched me wasn’t enough.
Even with your grip on my waist.
Your nails in my flesh.
The sway of my hips
reacting to your fingertips.
My gasps from your bites on my neck.
My moans from your flicks on my clit.
Your tongue. Your licks.
Even though I still yearn
for your hands on my body,
your touch wasn’t enough.

The way we fucked wasn’t enough.
Even though you felt so right inside me.
More right than any other has.
Your hips tilting,
driving your cock into me.
Your body pressed
against my flesh.
The way you made me cum.
And cum.
And cum.
The way you tortured me,
such sweet misery,
with your fucks.
Still, it wasn’t enough.

We weren’t just friends.
Whether you’ll admit it or not,
we were lovers.
But you didn’t love me,
not really.
I couldn’t be your friend any longer.
Because I could feel myself
starting to love you.
So there was no way
we could be
just friends.

Categorised as: Gen Fiction | Poem | Sex

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