I sit with my head held in a Sweetheart straw
at the bottom of a wax-painted cup sustained only by the puffs of your fetid breath and the putrid particles that slide my way aided by the mucus that encases them Then you suck, tugging at my body you stretch me toward your gullet Ah, the suck, the slurp, the pull as you sip my flavor up, up, up-- --my head is so close to your mouth then you blow and blow till I'm back at the bottom hot and bothered you cleanse me in a shower of steaming spittle |
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