"jettisons" poems
How can you spit fire- on earth’s back?
a hot breath that puckers a wind's crack
Your eyes, fill up the Heavens a distant so far
and When you were in motion, I thought you a shooting star
When I was motionless, You became the orbit to my sphere
but You spit fire, spilled it and burnt my earth’s atmosphere
With jettisons to blow soft kisses to try and lull it away
but with a harsh bite to open a closed wound in pain
Your flutters, they fill up my stars with a searing heat
When you're in motion I tethered with you with you when I need retreat
I orbit around you, and I am unwillingly your shooting star
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
I slide my hand down your **** and thigh from behind as you are bent over, and making yourself a toy for me.
I penetrate you doggy style, in and out as your shelf provides a suction on and off.
Your skin gets hot and flush.
You grab me like your fulfillment depended on it.
My ***** grows so large that it pierces though your heart and lungs and out your mouth.
Can you feel it in your abdomen?
The pulse and push against your intestines?
Rocking your ecatasy up your tummy as you grab at your heart - pounding with your man.
The rush goes up your ahoulders, up your neck, and your head and face come alive with mortal pleasure.
As you take your mouth over my tower, pressing your lips and tongue on its veins and arteries, digesting the salty skin in your mucus.
Pulsing your head back and forth as if you're not drinking enough, as if your mouth had the sensitivity of your ******
Without ******* you press it into your pus and my head pulses and enlarges pressing the back of your tunnel.
Woman's immortal enemy: my ****** jettisons my ***** mixing with your wet walls, producing a torrent of film.
We both hadn't had enough.
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 1:44 PM UTC