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Conversation is always adult like and has an encore

But, his eyes can’t stay off me

Trying to figure me out

Conversations, are as if he wants me

But, the thought of having me as an eternal meal

Not sure if he is deserving, or it’s just the thought

Tracing my face

I smile even when death is near

My mind is a marathon and he doesn’t run anymore

He is already near

In the kitchen is where the prepping begins

I become nervous, as if I am about to take a driving test

His hands move from my waist to my shoulder

A sexual hello on top of my clothing

Butterfly’s come out of there cocoon 

I am nervous

But, I want more of this hello and preparing

Stockings peel off

Like the banana I can’t wait to enter in me

He samples me with his two fingers

Seeing what else he can add to me

Making me laugh

Nothing is even funny

Just his full lips below my ear and scruffy beard on my neck

My zipper pours down like milk in my bowel

Dress pops off like the cake bag

We are our vanilla bean

He stirs me slow in the kitchen

He adds his personal blends and rotation

Granite counter meets my skin

But the moisture spreads from me to him

Sliding, as too much oil is on the counter

We can’t finish baking here; as the prepping is complete

We go up the squeaky stairs

Temperature is close to three hundred-fifty degrees

I am done in this room

Fully baked through, just a little wet in the middle

But he likes my cake upside down and in his face

He finishes

with his icing on my cake 


◄ Seasons

Coach BS ►


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