A Poem About Sex (Must be over 18 to read below)
The other day my email to text conversation with R went like this:
Me: I like to write poems… about sex.
Me: Below is another one I wrote just now because I am horny. And poetic.
The twist and turns, the fabric burns
Of limbs and skin and fluids churn
Out sticky cream; it hurts, it seems
that this pain is what i yearned in dreams.
The musk of tuffs, of smothered hair
of smell it permeates our air
It tears, your tongue, my swollen tip
Your grip, I trip, grab both my wrists
I’ll scream it out, out loud your name
I’ll whimper softly as I came
Again, once more, this faucet leaks
Eyes rolled, fluttered white to every squeeze
Exploding then, both flushed and red
Scratched back, bruised lips, a soiled bed
The cuddling is but only short lived, a Ruse
A simple pause before impending round Two.
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R’s response through text:
“I saw your email.
And read your poem.
My big dick and balls.
You’d like to know ’em.”
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Yep. It’s exactly what you think it is.
