Foxfire96

She clothes herself in poetry, seals her skin within the verse. Each line becomes another garment that conceals her fixed form's curvature, but peels away when read. Last night I dissected a stanza, clamped it tight between my teeth and tugged it down her legs. Her body breathes warm and sweet, speckled red like a summer strawberry field. I sucked the juice from her lines and spit the punctuation like seeds. My lips mouthed the shape of her words as my skin grew more sticky with every splash of imagery dripping down my chin. I peeled apart her soft pages with sticky, pink fingertips that left them clinging to my skin. A sing