Marks, a short poem bout when dat bitch be scratchin you and shit

Her hands rush over my body like the tide rolling in. Slowly, creeping up to my neck but then, quickly retracted so she can run her nails down my chest one more time. The marks that she leaves are the best part. An orgasm will come and go (no pun intended) but the deep scratches she leaves scattered across my torso will stay to remind me. Each one like a snowflake, individual in its own right and always different from the last. Everytime I see them in the mirror, for one second, I can almost be back in that moment. I can feel her nails digging into my skin out of pure pleasure of that one instance. I can hear her soft moan rolling out in ecstasy, with hot breath being rushed onto my neck. Oh how she feels pressed against me… Just to relive that moment in the blink of an eye makes me bite my lip and want more. My lust for her is insatiable and the marks she leaves only serve to remind me how much I need her touch.

Published
Categorized as Erotica