Twitching Mess of Need

You do this to me.
It’s all you and those silly words.
How you’ve strung them together in such a way,
I have no clue.
You make me open, swollen, full, wet.

Just words?
No, it’s more.
You exist.
You write what I feel.
The intangible ache manifested in a string of symbols.
Hieroglyphs only a few are privileged to discern.
Hidden meanings, masculine intent, need, hunger, longing.

You viscerally transcend space and time.
The two headed bitch is now you’re slave.
She bows to only you.
Power flows from your fingertips.
Impactful, primal, instinctual, raw, real.

Your words render me a twitching mess of need.

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