Not remembering is a tough thing

“I don’t want you to remember me”

she said,

and came

closer, slowly

peeling off her silk leggings

layer

after

layer; and then

sauntered to the mirror.

Put on the deepest red

lipstick that threw my

sanity out of the

window, where

it was snowing since morning.

“I don’t want you to remember me”

she whispered, while

giving my lips the brisk brush

of her passion filled pout. Her

sweaty body arching over

mine, making

noises, raging

hormones.

Oh, how can I not remember

her, devouring

my sanity

one kiss at a time?

“I don’t want you to remember me”

she said, and let me inside

her, caging me

completely

inside.

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