I lay prone on the bed.
What's under me?
Under me is my gun,
This gun has a gazillion bullets,
What for? For shooting towards you,
And where are you?
You lie further underneath me,
You lie supine, with your hills grazing my torso.
I touch your soft hills with my strong hands,
And you make sounds in ecstasy, not the drug, but the experience.
My gun travels in & out of your *****,
And your nails dig deeper into my back.
You express pleasure,
My sweat drips on your throat.
You express pain,
My pace increases in ecstasy.
You start squirming underneath,
You vibrate furiously along me,
I shoot my excited gun at last,
No, not for taking your life,
But as you are my wedded wife,
Together we should create new life.
You are relieved,
I am pleased.
We are successful.
My HP Poem #1938