Once the palm of your hand could contain her desires.
Now, they slip through your fingers, spread like legs to receive her.
Salty.
In the nights, you hold her, twisting her arms like a doll as she cries.
You grow sated from the blood between her thighs.
Salty.
Parched, you seek water - silky and containable.
If only you could curl her chest into a glass - in the light of the chandeliers, it would reflect your diamonds and her tears.
Salty.
Let me glisten with the strength of your fears.
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