From Your Mouth to Mine

S. K. Nicholas

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There are alleyways that take me to knowing, brown eyes. There are moments when two sets of fingers touch in secret that lead to legs that pull me in and a mouth that spits me out. In a doorway, you spin. From the shadows, you emerge like a cat ready to scratch my skin as the sun goes down on yet another drowning town. In your navel, I drip. Against your stomach, I rub my cock while telling you the visions in my head that just won’t quit. There have been others, and yet as much as I try to resist you, you keep coming around. You keep messing with my stuff and yet because it’s you it feels like bliss when with anyone else it would be shit. There are parks where our ghosts dance at dawn. There are so many pathways and freeways where your image still lingers…

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Author: oldepunk

Writing about my views of the world in a stream of conscience style

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