- Erotic Poetry
- His Hands
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His hands, though worn and rough
Touch me, and my skin comes alive.
Awakened by his presence.
His love can be felt as he performs magic with my breast.
I crave more.
I need more.
My pulse echoes in my entire body as his hand graces my inner thigh.
Enough teasing me,
I need his love
Hard and rough, passionate, pushing my boundaries, proving my love, and sharing my orgasm vocally.
His cock is a story teller, stories of love like I've never known.
More! More!
The more I take it
The more I want, it's a drug.
And I am an addict.
His dick enters me and I hear orchestras, beautiful music.
We dance to the music for hours.
Sweat pours and I can feel his tired breath against my face
As I bury my head in his chest.
I still twitch from the flood of orgasms I just gladly endured.
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