— PLATE XXXIII —
aching stretch waiting to release? pleasure beyond belief? It is not questions we ask, we sleep sound,
— PLATE XXXIV —
grinding down longing, be so, arch. Breach torrents. Small words I repeat over and over, what I would
— PLATE XXXV —
do to attest to one of the many times you claimed foul. All there together we might observe these
— PLATE XXXVI —
moments in complete silence while you wondered, writhing and agony defying themselves to reach over
— PLATE XXXVII —
to you once more, why it was such. And I would know then your brand of patience. That fair edge
— PLATE XXXVIII —
you've burnished once over too many times along the pit of my stomach, you crook. Strand yourself
— PLATE XXXIX —
around me again, find me not rested from this day gone over. Sharp calls and cries won't lessen the grip
— PLATE XL —
or reduce the sentence. My grubby mittens squeezing this pained instrument. Highlighting the
— PLATE XLI —
strawberry seed buds nestled along the protruding tongue that I delight braving. Press it against my
— PLATE XLII —
rustling knuckles, aid in their ache, snap the joints loose, find loving caresses a fruitful enough reward
— PLATE XLIII —
for your kind. Your crook self and your crook kind. Dirty, filthy, spit on the sole of the earth. Recoil.
— PLATE XLIV —
Trounced sturdy, queer sight uncommon here, not wanted. Strength alone ignores the base of your
— PLATE XLV —
breath. Abated adoration at a cost. Count all the reasons why I shouldn't. Creep along hoping it's not my
— PLATE XLVI —
hand that finds you. Abject. Puce of some soreness eking from a stranded wound. Open your throat and
— PLATE XLVII —
feel the warmth of bated absolution. Such and such. These nasty things you would do to me I know
— PLATE XLVIII —
were I not so clearsighted. Nearing even the final act, if you could stand to look, what you'd see is the
