DIG IT

It hurts good. Contorting. Reaching down, deep. Hitting, scraping, banging against a wall would make lesser god’s stop. But I’m trying to decorate. I have designer paint

I’m a producing mother-fucker

I feel you loosening. Wobbly. A shakiness that makes me clutch instead of run. Sucking me in.

I hold you until we’re both wrecked. A pleasurable assault that earns me respect.