- Erotic Poetry
- Picasso's Canvas
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Picasso's Canvas is not flax,
He paints across her flesh,
To fill her need then help relax,
So she can start afresh.
Atop her canvas is her face,
Its beauty pure and fair.
Those lucious lips which his embrace,
When kissed will lay her bare.
Her neck is soft and sensative,
That kiss upon her her nape.
Her throat sifts whimpers like a sieve,
Yet lets her moans escape.
Her supple breasts with satin skin,
Hold nipples soft yet firm.
The pleasures twins do hide within,
Can surely make her squirm.
Her flower is her special place.
Its lips all wet with dew.
Its hooded nub loves varied pace,
From tongue and fingers too.
She also has one hidden spot,
That canvas has bestowed.
The masterpiece is finished not,
Until her core explodes.
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