Are we emptied?
Who emptied?
Where once
I could trace
a finger
slowly
down her spine,
entering
the valley
where her
pleasure button lay,
my finger, aged
by creeping time,
is crooked,
and unsteady moves.
She lies
sleeping now,
her spine rusted
by time's cruel touch,
and movement thus
is all too much.
Is it snow
that falls?
Or is it us
thus falling?
Succo del sesso,
we played
the games
of foreplay,
and mouthed
the nightly juices
of her vessel's joy,
and mine
and hers
intermingled
as the game ensued.
All was love
or lust
or both
and all
was hot
and all seemed glued.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
Are we emptied?
Who emptied?
Where once
I could trace
a finger
slowly
down her spine,
entering
the valley
where her
pleasure button lay,
my finger, aged
by creeping time,
is crooked,
and unsteady moves.
She lies
sleeping now,
her spine rusted
by time's cruel touch,
and movement thus
is all too much.
Is it snow
that falls?
Or is it us
thus falling?
Succo del sesso,
we played
the games
of foreplay,
and mouthed
the nightly juices
of her vessel's joy,
and mine
and hers
intermingled
as the game ensued.
All was love
or lust
or both
and all
was hot
and all seemed glued.
