Kneeling for Love

I feel like there are many, many girls
without flaws; I'm surely not one of them.

Victoria's bra shelf for me says "D,"
and so I find less, for "B's" the "right size."
What then can I offer, when sticks and twigs
are the ultimate girl-goddess for men?

The answer is this: I've learned to suck well.
A flawed, imperfect girl, I must take a
beautiful, handsome, lovely dick into
my mouth. My cheeks tight, my lips moist, I run
my tongue back and forth, over and over,
not stopping for any ache or hardly
any breath. When he cums, I drink it down.

Why do I debase myself easily?
Why do I shamefully let myself be
known as an amazing, cocksucking girl?
Because I am not perfect, can't compete
except in one humiliating way.

On my knees, I'm his most important thing.
There is no thin, perfect, amazing wife.
Only me, knees sore, my hands on his hips
giving him my mouth, my throat, and my love.

What's my return? I get tender kisses,
warm embraces, a wonderful feeling
that, for a time, I am actually his.

An illusion, I am kneeling for love.