Your juices run down my finger.
The slim from your kiss linger.
My eager grows;
thirsty for your taste,
sweet embrace,
Go figure.
Your figure,
Controlling the pace
Of your waist
You whining,
Hips grinding,
You are trying
To hasten the pace,
But this ain't a race.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
