Erotic PoetryPizza DeliveryDion's "Queen of 1959."
She brushes her silken
moonbeam hair
and drops her dentures
into the waiting glass.
She lines her lips
with scarlet.
Her toothless mouth
now offers
the perfection
of a painted soft cunt,
replete with hungry,
devouring tongue.
She waits then
for the bell
that will release her
from this
mortal cage,
if only for a moment.
When he enters
her abode,
she kneels before him,
her newfound master,
caressing
his straining manhood
through the cruel prison
of his pants.
With trembling
wrinkled fingers
bearing blood-red nails,
she frees him,
throwing her arms
about his waist,
his throbbing lance
hot upon her
freezing cheek.
She slides her face
over the burning,
pulsating veins
of his youth,
feeling his fingers
as they glide through
the silken strands
of her long, soft
silvery hair.
He guides
the hot haven
of her gasping mouth
onto the center
of his being.
She buries
his hardness
in her welcoming
cavern,
sliding and squeezing
her lips
up and down the
length of his youthful,
yearning shaft.
He crushes
her ancient head,
in the vise
of his desperate hands,
setting the galloping pace.
They are now one being,
dancing to a rhythm
more primordial
than the stars that fill
this icy night.
When she squeezes
his young
hot, heavy balls
with her freckled hands,
he succumbs,
shooting the fire
of his youth
down her dry,
grasping throat.
He clutches
her hungry crone's head,
holding her
hard against him
as he pours his fiery seed
upon the garden
of her emptiness.
When the cruel moment
of parting comes,
she licks every
last drying drop
of his liquid soul
from her flaming lips.
She watches
as he strolls back
into the snow,
disappearing
into the whiteness
of the storm.
She pulls her
white silk robe
around her,
bracing herself
for the coming
cold.
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