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Gravity Smack.

Lips part, one pair sliding 
down, leaving a slithering trail
of saliva tailing further, growing
longer, aiming deeper,

slow, controlled

to the belly then below 
and then, at the terminus,


crawl into the crevice,
dance between the warm, quivering lips,
descend, feel out, exit 
above the tip,
across the button’s cave,

exploratory muscle curving
upward and out,
back again

until, through the viced,
muffled ears,
face wetter than sweat, 
you hear

her primal melody. 


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