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More than Making Love

Fucking, just isn’t the word.
Neither is plainly making love
It’s a passion and a hunger
A thirst and a need

The length of you in my fingers
The tip of you in my mouth
Leaves my insides lingering with lust

Desire runs rampant in every kiss
The taste of you and me combined
Is more powerful than
Fireworks in July

Longing for more
Whenever your fingers touch me
When your toes curl into mine
When your chest breathes with me

When you’re deep within
The place that’s so rightfully yours
It leaves me tingling within my core

When we fuck, or make love
When we touch, hug or kiss
I realize none is a moment
I wish to miss

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