~a whimsical poem~

I fuck on the blanket you gave me.

I sleep under it naked, too.

It’s super comfy; 

I’m surprised you gave it up so easily.

Tossed it to me like it was nothing. 

You were moving. 

We all were. 

I guess it was lost in the shuffle of your new life.

I touch myself under it, 

tangle my limbs in its comfort 

as I cum for me and my fantasies.

It’s become my favorite blanket.

I don’t think about you when I lay above and below it, 

touch it, 

caress it.

Instead I think about all the dick, 

that’s not your dick, 

it’s helped me get.

Sweat and semen in its stitching. 

My screams muffled in the seams.

It’s red; 

almost too perfect of a color choice

considering the amorous encounters it’s experienced. 

Oh, the stories it could tell about the fun I’ve been having.

Moans.

Groans.

This position.

That position. 

And oh, the dirty talk. 

I kind of wonder if it’s really red 

or if it’s blushing.

So yeah D, 

thanks for the blanket.

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