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god, he’s dumb.

“Don’t throw me out of the saddle.”

“My Daddy’s da devil.”

“This is slippier than owl shit.”

god, he’s dumb.

and, he knows when to easy grin.

and, he knows when to shy touch.

and, he knows when to hungry interrupt.

how can an illiterate read my poetess soul?

against my nipple, he sounds it out.

against my buttock, he finds context clues.

my thighs are an open book to him.

enchanted, he memorizes my labia encyclopedia page.

to him, i am erotica.