He knows me up like his favorite book
Fingers trail my spine like a precious copy of Dubois
Flicking my slick folds looking for the chapter he left off on
His kisses highlight vital information he must memorize before daylight
I'm at awe at his love for literacy
With a simple thrust I crack open pages already filled with his familiar pensmenship
I gasp as he reads me painfully slow, silently I'm begging him to skip to the epilogue
Ink runs as he finishes his vivid tale; perspiring from the onslaught of contextual exertion
God I love helping him brainstorm
YOU ARE READING
BRoken WOrd
Random✒️I'm a Poet✒️ I've learned that the best poems are based on life events No matter how magnanimous Or Microscopic
