Luke gave me his poems to read,
I notice the hair on his arms, as he handed me the disk;
olive skin, dark hair, a particular favourite of mine,
I wanted to touch him, stroke him and have him not recoil.
I wanted to kiss him; taste him, feel his spit on my skin,
smell his breath on my face, feel his hair in my fingers.
Feel his warm pulse, with all of my touch.
I want to wipe his sticky seed from my abdomen, pull it out of my pubes.
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