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Click heregently at first, it begins.
tender soles rolling across
firm skins, applying pressure.
juice filled orbs
stretch and burst,
warm flesh oozes,exposed
as the weight increases
and the strokes speed
showing no mercy.
life's blood is squeezed,
sweetmeats are trampled
underfoot,wrenching out all
that was once fresh
and succulent, until only
an empty, bitter hull remains.
and having emptied you,
she retires to sip the wine
and consider future harvests.
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This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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If you don't know what sweetmeat is, you'll miss much of what's said here. Ouch!
since i've seen anything from you. i can feel this all the way in rubbing up against my bones to a chill......nicely done.....don
I loved this sad lil poem~!!
Reaches out, grabbs ya.
Sends ya whirling into the land of the damned~
Imagery is the key here.
So much is said in painting, each stroke of the bitter brush.
Excellent~!!
Very deep ... emotional
More Please~!!