Ode to Alba: Dark Angel Lips
Thy lips are ice.
But different ice.
Ice that melts.
The slippery slope of
Your frictionless surface area,
Allows easy lubrication for fellatio.
I sweat profusely at the notion,
Of nibbling on your luscious lips,
Supple to the touch,
Glistening to the eye,
Orgasmic to the lick.
Purity of the puffiness,
I want to taste every ounce of Albaness.
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