Smudge, my lipstick
Before making me smile.
Pollute my mind,
With coarse words –
Rough and dirty,
Like sand.
Crude language,
Whispers softly from your lips.
I can’t help
But to listen.
Your desires evident
As you describe
Fistfuls
Of my disheveled hair.
Of taking my flesh,
Behind the woodshed
With dirt on my face-
From the garden.
Soiled.
That’s…
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