When it hits
It’s after that blood
When you’re most attractive
Most productive
But also wildest
You can’t contain it
So you touch it yourself
The spot, the forbidden
The delight, the hidden
And you can’t help
But playing the scenes
Of the best, hottest
You put your palm on the bare
Block your own airway
Cause no one’s doing it
Pinch and twist
Curve it up
Turn on the purple machine
And yet you let it aside
You turn around and let nature searches
With memories and flashes
And then you just stopped
Without release
As you got icked by your own
Lost of feelings and butterflies
As you remember your shame more than the pleasure
And you slide it away
And lock your screen
With a heavy sigh and tasks on your desk.
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