Unclean Fill

My mouth is burning like every mistake I've ever made.
Dimples on my tongue bouncing, moving with the slick motion of my words.
I know my goal. They know it too.
I feel pressure on my lips. The sides of my gums.
Our comradery doesn't make this any less ugly.

The pressure turns to motion and the motion turns to moans.
And the moans work in unison to remove my clothes.

A mental lightswitch is bumped and a smile.
Fingertips perform tricks upon skin, gracelessly, perfectly.
The unison of a body once thought subversive is now ideal.
I feel pressure on the thin valves of my heart to give.
Rolling over, a new leaf, a new best friend like I've always wanted (psst...needed).

The pressure turns to motion and the motion turns to moans.
And the moans work in unison to remove my clothes.

Pause. One body to body. Our creator left a hole in this script.
Where do we go from here?
Two tongues lie resting, twenty fingers lie guessing. Six eyes.
I feel pressure to re-create what once was, to pour clean fill into this gap.
But my arms are too tired to pour, and what once was isn't right in front of me.

The pressure turns to motion and the motion turns to moans.
And the moans work in unison to remove all of my clothes.