Playing Hand
I can feel
your carotid
quicken…
Pushing away
at my lips
and my tongue…
Struggling.
Struggling
not to succumb
too soon
to orchestral movements
I strum
on your strings.
I will play
until you need
to sing…
‘Til you writhe
like you’re Salome
before her King…
Dancing…
Gasping…
Panting…
Collapsing…
Planting
your lips
upon mine…
-HymnAgen
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