Crude Love

I want to suck your face off.  The words aren’t poetic or sweet.  They don’t sing.  When you hear them leave my full lips to your delicate ears you aren’t inclined to tell me you love me or think we have a future together.  All you want to do is bite down on those lips and pull them into your mouth.  Suck the fullness right out and make me yelp in pain as you clench too hard.

Lock my head between your thighs and don’t stop ’til morning.  The words are suggestive and crude.  You know what I want.  You can see it in my eyes.  The fire crackling, nearing explosive.  My only purpose in life at this moment is to transfer this explosion from my lips to your hips.  The eye-rolling rhyme only meant for your knees to squeeze tighter along with your fist in my hair and my face given no room to breathe.

Lets make-out.  Lets rip each others clothes off.  Lets mark each others skin with our teeth and nails.  Lets fuck.

Give me the dripping, messy love that people are afraid to experience.  The kind of love that when you slide your hands in it your face screws up because the feeling is so thick and sticky you don’t think you’ll ever get it out.  Get it on my clothes and in my hair.  I want to feel you under my nails and between my teeth.  I want to know what your neck smells like when you sweat.

I don’t want to love you all the time like strawberries and sweet-scented fields of delicate flowers.  Commercial love doesn’t allow for the things I want to do to you.  Public view cannot handle the contortion of our bodies that run through my mind.  You are my raw intensity.  I am your unfiltered passion.  Lets mix our colors together and start painting.

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