- Erotic Poetry
- Junk tuck
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In a corner, intimate and still,
I watch him dress, with an eager thrill.
Every detail of his body I behold,
In this moment, his beauty I unfold.
A simple movement, oh, so fleet,
As he puts on his jeans, so sweet.
Up they go, snug around his waist,
Fly to be fastened, no moment to waste.
I hold my breath, my focus sharp,
For this moment, the junk tuck, I harp.
With both hands, he takes the fly,
Casually tucking his junk, oh my.
Pop.
Like it’s nothing.
Yet it means so much, as you'll see.
The Cock i worship, so light and free.
His cock, his pride, so familiar and known,
He tucks it away, without a glance thrown.
This motion, practiced, imprinted in his core,
Shows comfort, pride, and so much more.
that how this part of him is too big,
too prominent, too obvious, too valuable
to simply slide the jeans up and over.
His skin now clothed, in cotton so soft,
His manhood nestled, with care aloft.
His hands, so skilled, in this sacred act,
Caress and dress, with love intact.
I widen my eyes, cherishing the sight,
Of the junk tuck, a moment of delight.
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