Illicit Subterfuge

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With every tick-tock-tick
Of the ancient, crumbling clock,
You punish me with your caress;
Your tongue and fingers
Drive themselves, irreverently,
Through every tender crevice
Of this waiting, swollen body;
My lips, half-open and moist,
Whilst I torturously remain
In thrumming suspension–
Desiring every wanton touch;
Then, you call out my name
And, ah my love!
I’m utterly, irrevocably spent!

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