I press hot fingernails into flesh,
my red venom contrails on your spine.
You strum my softness nimbly—
musically—
I guess that’s why they call it
fingering.
I press hot fingernails into flesh,
my red venom contrails on your spine.
You strum my softness nimbly—
musically—
I guess that’s why they call it
fingering.
Write Handed Poetry 
Oh, love this!
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Love you, for reading ❤ always.
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my pleasure 🙂
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So many posts in such little time!! Consider me impressed 🙂
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Yessssss!! Impressing you was the goal freckles. That’s it. I’ve achieved everything. 😉
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Yusss the goal has been achieved! I would say I guess you can stop now, but don’t! Ever!! ❤
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