Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2018
We keep coming together, you killing me, it's a dead heat. *** so good, we can hardly speak. Climbing on top, she's reaching her peak. Skirt no *******, she hide, I seek. Ready or not, here she ****, and I practice what I preach. Locked myself inside her, finders keep. If the meek inherits her world, I guess that makes me weak.
Styles
Written by
Styles  NYC
(NYC)   
23.9k
       Phoenix32, Isabelle, nish and Me Díaz
Please log in to view and add comments on poems