- Erotic Poetry
- The whip
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I touch your back where the whip has kissed your skin
Bright red wheals raised as if ploughed from the perfectly white soil of your skin
Sweet blood oozes like the first growth of some dormant crop
As my lips play the part of the gulls that follow the plough
Below the bloodied field of your back your buttocks clench
Anticipating the stinging lash heralded by the swish of leather through air
Again and again until your shuddering sobs tell me you are mine
Completely
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