She pulls her blankets to her chin,
and under them
her hands reminisce,
retracing the lines they remember
you drawing with your tongue.

Her skin prickles with the residue
your touch had left caked
on her nerve endings
and so she soothes
and strokes
with warm palms
until her lust hazes over
the ache of your absence


Fill me, please,
she whimpers
memory scalding
as she thrusts herself upon her fingers
until she clenches
and curls into herself
and floods
into her hand


hips dragging
tired but still
back and forth
against stiff fingers

as though she could martyr her cunt
to exorcise your ghost.

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