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Click hereSpank me, mi loco. Yo soy su mala muchacha. Si.
Run your hands around the curves of hip and tap,
laughing. Pull yourself hard. Bruise your mouth on me,
and whisper Who’s the bitch, now? Tiny slap
reddens, laps, never really stings, mi amo. Night is near
as skin dimpled with shake and giggle, not a trap.
No pain. This is a rain of love. There is no fear
in stormy lovers’ games. Touch me dulce uno, turn,
y sea mi mujer. Who’s the bitch now, dear?
Te amo tranquilo o salvaje. Calm or wild, burn
into me. Dígalo! Now!, Amante, Now! Gasp,
groan, smile and moan. Poco a poco we learn
otros thrill, the power of our single breath, the rasp
of falling sibilance. Looming moonlight’s tender grasp.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,000 poems.
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....and the altered tone and content from the others provide a startling backdrop for the beautiful phrasing.