Our tongues are laced together,
Threading through the mouths,
Finding out your flavor, and mine.
Your fingers trace the skirt hem,
Till my inner thigh make contact,
With your warm, lingering fingertips.
And yet they move to higher grounds.
My knees buckle even on the bed,
You swallow my gasp sweetly.
Then a swish of warm air, door ajar,
Your husband takes a step in,
Stares, and my eyes meet his.
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