- Erotic Poetry
- No More
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No church exists where I’m allowed to pray,
On bended knee confessing to her lips;
Her dress covers my head where I still stay,
Both saliva and her sweet nectar mix.
Her fragrant flow’r now bare to me… submit!
Hot kiss’d, then tongued, soft juices slowly drip;
When my drink dries, I pause… pull back… then spit,
My Siren squeals!… empowers my ego trip.
My face besieged by hands and humping box,
Friction fights folly, through wet vicious acts;
Rich screams, ‘sex shakes’, I come to her through vox,
Tongue deeply sheathed, her unrestrained Climax.
My hair pulled back, hands forced on me… adjourned,
Gasping... eyes meet, she says, “No more… your turn.”
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