Overtime
He’s thinking too late,
slightly pissed before bed,
stiff and undressed
into cooled nakedness:
He will make you stand,
your eyes turned east,
you will face from him,
as he drops to his knees:
There your reduction,
him a flesh-bare thug,
as you stand blinded,
and his heart binds hard:
Your white legs splayed,
by his too-sure grip
pushing you open,
to find a fit in your hips.
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