It’s just Lust.

Hurried mouths wrap lip bows
around darting tongues.
Hurried fingers tear at the fabric
around wriggling forms.
Breath comes in
short
pants
As pants
slide
off
to the floor
Amidst the carnage of
the clothes before.
Suddenly on the bed,
or on the floor,
it doesn’t matter which anymore.
Arms and legs intertwined,
does it matter whose is whose?
A rhythm established,
as two forms fuse.
Sweet glory of the mountain
climbing to the top!
Let’s come to that peak together,
before we have to stop.

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