Ought
There’s a poem I want to write so badly
but I dare not.
It pulls at me till my mind aches
with it’s dangerous plot.
Memories of wild ecstasy
I cannot blot.
Camera and water erotic
in my favorite spot.
Bodies wrapped tight
in a luscious knot
skin against burning skin.
it is my lot
to keep desperate moans
held in this slot,
where taste and touch
must go to rot
because you fear
these words I jot.
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