by Autumn A.K.A. Mo_duinne
Their tongues, hands, hips thrust.
Our heads beg to turn away- the eyes are trapped
In Technicolor prison as our moist,
Let escape half a
Nervous giggle that floats to freedom, stale.
Words drip feigned disgust.
You begin to shuffle your feet on the carpet.
The brushing, scratching rises to a ringing echo in Our cell.
My eyes reach for yours-- a second of electric
Contact then we are snapped back, helpless,
By photographic chains.
Magnetic sweat beads gather on their damp
Some rubbed dry by exploring palms.
The wet, salt air presses.
We breathe in silent gasps.
I close my eyes to break chains.
We are free...
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