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Words: Adina-Diana Pop (she/her)

I claw my way out of your navel, 

emerging from the inside of your cavernous expanse.

I dig my fingernails in, and you let me tear you apart because you

enjoy it. 

Your siren song reverberates within my ears and my grasp tightens around the squelch of your stomach because you are

fond of me; I can feel it.

I can sense it. I can smell it.

When you quantify it, I can

pick it up and play it.

You touch it, then you plead for it to touch you back.

You create

our own game of carnal connotations. 

As the evening sets, you light up your cravings and

spit them back onto my face until my

vision goes blurry and

I see only you.

You who

liquefies the skin on these bones and

intertwines with it when it

runs down your ribs 

caressing your hips, 

driving you insane by the time it

pools down at your feet.

This is my offering for you, who are

fond of me.

I can feel it.

I can sense it. I can smell it. I can touch it.

You make me writhe and slither,

Twist and contort,

Understand when you tell me

what it means to be naught.


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