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- Erotic Poetry
- Marks of Red Velvet
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Hand it to her
And she will sit down
Pull on my wrist
Bow down to her crown
Eyes of brown venom
Warmth of her thighs
Smart pain to my denim
I quiver and sigh
Oak wood thick
Tender and raw
Swings in the distance
And cuts like a saw
Marks of red velvet
Her ankle in hand
I ask for forgiveness
She says be a man
Kicking the cushion
On the bed that she sits
Exposed to her eyes
As she swats with a stick
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