Spot On Shit

The news landed like a feather against a winter nipple. I spoke my mind. Only way to learn is to get back on the horse. Saddle and reign. There is nothing like his tongue against my sex his hands in my face urges fingers and wet suction. His touches rough like I remember just a little too hard to make me nothing happens is what I'm saying until that tongue. Quiver and break. I spill ecstasy mumble spittle cleave and pray. I cannot stay with his arm fallen over me with no love just obligation. I'm Lenny to your George. Clarity came and we were afflicted. Sade against Joan of Arc those fucking French always butting in with something to say bleak but exact. Spot on shit. Italian blood and it's ridiculous masculinity. Black blood too. Riding the fence between cultures has left me seventeen again. My face is flawless. Curse the gift of time.