Pears Ripe by Angela Thomas You smell like pears ripe with sin. But, to grab the back of your sandy brown scalp and kiss you full, on the mouth. I want to feverishly pull at your shirt, up over your head, snapping those little,expensive Italian buttons one-by-one. Laying you down hard on my soft, soft bed and running my hands up and down your torso, until you shiver when my pinkie barely grazes the cold, shiny metal clasp. On your pants. Standing over you, I'll peel away my sticky sweat-drenched cotton cardigan, revealing perfectly tanned and ripe flesh. Take a bite.. just a little one, I'll taunt. You'll subcumb, holding my warm, anything-more-than-a-handful-is-a-waste- breasts in your mouth. I'll pull at your waist, like forming dough and I'll come, you'll come, I'll come. Sucumb. To you. 07/06/2006 Posted on 07/06/2006 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)