Mmmm… beer. Sounds good right about now.
This is what you do. Strike a matchstick and leave behind an inferno. I would hesitate touch you now. I would burn.
Take me with you everywhere today. Keep me, high on the inside of your thigh. I am a glass of beer balanced between your legs and you cannot spill a drop. You know it well; the tense muscles. The slip and slide. The hot and cold at once. The strength and fragility – like glass.
I will tell you all about what happens to a glass of beer between your legs: I will sweat. And my sweat will run down my sides and begin to dampen your garments. I will stay wet and cold on the outside. Wet and burning on the inside. Each turn of the wheel, each hesitation on the speed breaker, each swerve, each jerk, I will lurch and be thrown against your skin. Slammed into your muscles. Recede…
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