You’re clever with the way that you touch me
and make my thighs tingle with words.
Your footing on the doorstep to this feeling
lets me know that you don’t waste your verve.
It’s not that I’d call you “professional,”
and I don’t see your moves as rehearsed;
it’s just that I trust what I’m sensing:
that something about you just works.

“Play around with me, then.”
I’m asking you to,
so
just
do.

And the reason I’d call this thing playing
is cause simple is fun when its true.

Oh,
how you have made me pure again.
Restored.
Restored.
Restored.

So, fuck the fucking scorecard.
Games like this, they don’t get me too bored.

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