Is it dirty or is it filthy?

Flat and silent on satin
she trickles her fingers like water
on my thigh,
a slow spark towards the top,
I tighten and breathe, she continues
whisking the tips,
spinning her hips north,
we collide, it's on, she's on,
we wrestle,
fusing sweat and lust to the sheets,
three minutes of existence
puncuated by pillow talk
and snoring.
 
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