Ceiling Fan

Awake,

I breathe in earthy musk,

sealed,

entwined in fibers of my sheets

the ceiling fan clinks and spins

the sensory memory of limbs over mine

spreads to every crevice,

every pore of my being

I can taste your lips

glossed with spit

gliding over my azure branches,

bold under translucent flesh

my body radiates, vibrates,

the memory of hands roaming,

lips parting and exploring

ends.

-Olga Z.

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