This poem contains mature content
A fingertip dancing up my thigh
Your eyes see mine, but not me
And my lips open only to whisper your name
I beckon you to me, as you pull my hips closer
Your hand breaks past the hem
Of my panties
And your right index finger is enough to make me squirm
You hold my waist with the other hand
Inserting another finger
I grab your shoulders, and you pause
You stop to tease me, to hear
Me beg for you to fuck me
That's all you want
Is for someone to want you
YOU ARE READING
A Whole Melancholy of Lovers
Poetrya book of poetry written for the boy i love the most, and maybe a few others
