Babe, there's many kindsa cravings:
the vanilla kind, where young idiots
write about how they miss his
or her touch on their skins.
or the morbid kind, where another
lot lament how they'd rather die
than not see each other.
I'll tell you of this real and adult craving:
babe, I ******* miss my manhood
feeling ron n ***** up your moist hindside.
Babe, its a crack kinda craving,
the sight of which, beneath wet garments
and better yet, when parted
revealin that silly sorry slithery
gateway to the netherheavens,
this is the kinda crack, harder than coke,
that my adult craving craves, this
craving, babe, is for the real.

Babe, when I plow in and out of you,
palms holding your luxury buttocks
and lips on your bare *****
bodies moist in sweat and anticipation
in this low light, feeling a fleeting pulse
of your flowing hair is ecstasy, is ecstasy.
I'm a kneeling missionary of the gasm,
yes, the big O shooting to heavens.

there's something vulnerable
about your *****:
babe - whenever
I watch that pepper bush
I become vulnerable
and all I want to do
is to finger the moist bases;

there's something vulnerable
about your buttocks:
babe - whenever
your warm ****'s in my palm
I become vulnerable
and all I want to do
is to dig into the honey vases;

holding you in my arms
sweat mingling in sweat
babe, this is an experience:
to smell the scent of a woman,
to feel your warmth on my skin
and trace the tips of your hair
by my finger tips at the neck,
to taste your moist firm lips,
and hear you moan soft
entreaties to my eager ears,
calling my aroused response:
babe, I know no other
that triggers all my senses
this way, this way....

stand like that, babe,
don't undress, tonight
stand, looking at the moon,
stand, turning your **** to me.
oh as I imagine the
moist gingerholes that lie
behind those cheeks.
oh the borderline:
mezzanine - that's polite
for everything fine
on the bottom floor, isn't it?
what's the word for it -
paroxysm? stand that way:
no sight like hindesight,
as they say, flashlight,
watertight, those plugpoles

He thinks he has her in control.
He thinks he possesses her body
as she wiggles her **** and teases
her **** for him: oh my babe he's
lost in his fantasy - well she knows
she's just lubing up her toy to
please her good, she's a player!

oh, baby, tonight,
the wind's a bit bitter on skin
tonight, the itch strikes
oh, baby i'd so love  
to plug all nature's loose ends
oh when you
crawl to me like that,
knowing you are all lubed
for me, tonight,
there's a crank that goes wild

Babe, now I become the hunted.
When you wiggle your buttocks
in such taste, to the slow peeling
of the thong, uncovering those
honey-tubes wet in desire, I die
in my knees: girl, now I can resist
no more, this groin-pang to plug
that ***** damp gaping blank.

You have me seduced by just your words,
girl, reading these lines, corners of my frame
have come alive tingling; In my secret desire
I admired her whose body was poetry in
motion, but wondered how her mind be:
Now I see your mind is poetry pure, I don't
care to question the beauty sustaining it!
Baby, under saline suns, you in a figure-
hugging dress, yes, let's meet at some sandy
beach, and drunk of your verse mingling
with the breeze - I'll lick those lips that
utter such sublimity, and feel that beauty
on my skin that's capable of such poetry!

Oh, sacred cloth, soft gateway
to heavenly ends, moist
by the pink lips, guarding
holy realms between
thighs and hips, always
tempting behind trousers
and minis of smart lasses,
repository of smells, naughty
behind the ***-crack:
to behold you, to touch you
to smell you, to taste you,
is indeed my salvation!

I'm fired with missionary zeal:
Lady with such fine thighs,
are you game?

this primal hour, I do not wish to disturb the quiet
with music or words. I just want to squeeze those
luscious buttocks in both my palms and drink
the oozing juice of lust out of your wet lips:
Oh, babe, I just want to plough your field,
your thighs up in air, and feel the softness of
your wet depths on the walls of my hardened
manhood, thirsting for your love potion. this
primal hour, I want nothing but undiluted lust

Let my wet lips welcome yours into the morning mist with a mingling
of our desired breaths. Dig in to me as our tongues explore their roots
like how the distant tree digs into the earth as she kisses the flaming sky.
Girl the roots of your hair must  moan in pleasure as my fingertips
soothe them after pulling them in my unmeasured passion. My tongue
's wet with the desire to explore those forlorn parts of your frame, long
craving of affection - sides of your ****, grape-firm inner lines of your
thighs that lead to the garden of eden. Oh the smell of that slippery
refuge intoxicates my snake, let me rattle your soft depths in thrusts
and leaps of mangled lust. Hold him, this incorrigible brat, in your palm,
caress his lovelorn base, soft as only you can, kisses will do too, see how
wet he's gone, sobbing for want of that silken touch of your moistened
depths. Baby let me in, let me feel your moans sink into my skin as you
bite me in embrace, your thighs curled over mine like branches of old
trees in consummated love. Feel my heated embrace as you weigh down
upon me deeper in your every passionate ******. Baby explode your
feminine gush on me as you reach for the summits of mysterious O's.