Mess

I want to make

A mess of you

Fuck you into

Smithereens

Not from an absence

Of understanding,

Its opposite,

To see your hair

Spread out 

Wrapped around my

Hand as I whisper

My instructions,

Each thrust

Is a prayer

To the hunger

Making you beg,

Baby girl,

Thrash heavy thoughts

Into light, glorious 

Feeling,

Wallowing in filth

And shining with

Pleasure 

As we make 

Such 

Glorious

Mess

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