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My lungs fill slow, your eyes locked on my parted lips then I exhale, a thick veil of blackberry fog curling like a curse toward your face. You don’t speak. You don’t move. You breathe in, desperate to taste what I’ve touched, to absorb my essence like the good little slave you are. Each breath lifts my heavy tits, teases what you’ll never suck. I blow it close, then closer a ghost of vapor on your tongue and whisper: “More? Then open wide. This mist owns you now.”