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Spark of Devirginity.

In the midst of my fear,
grinding
comes to a halt,
like a teasing, unprecedented still
as lips brush before a kiss.

“Is this okay?”

For the lack of a god,
yes,
please feed the wolves.

Riding me like a wave.

Succumb
when I beg for the top,
so apologetically,
gain it and ride
into such a surreal sunset:

and still burning alive.
Insatiable.

Blazing bright.

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