its potential demise

It started with the word tickle and went from there. It claims that lust calls to it, with a sensual greed. I have a great many lewd things to skin upon it; but it gets incensed if it’s interrupted, more fervent as it takes its way. It made wet smacking sounds with its lips and I try to copy it, standing alone in the dark in front of the bay window. As long as it can tell me as much as it can about what it does when it’s alone in this room, I wouldn’t mind ignoring it altogether. The window is all smudged with oils and I quietly feel curious.


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