They loved me for being able to writhe,
and being able to throw my head back to laugh,
they loved me for my hips, especially my hips
where they all placed their hands.
I adored them for their eagerness, desperation
grabbing at intimacy to finally feel close,
their longing to grind thighs against thighs
soft parts to our machine.
How can you not admire a man for his sexuality?
and if you
are his temporary, nightly, momentary goddess
how can he not admire you?
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