- Erotic Poetry
- Waiting to Worship Him
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His bedroom eyes
that can persuade me
more and more horizontally.
As I am writing this,
handkerchief in hand,
I wipe my feverish brow.
If only he were here,
off my pants would be,
and knickers down low.
But I will go on…
His chest is broad,
scattered with dark hair,
hovered above me in dominance.
I am forever his slave,
maid to his cock, smiling
as it sits between my lips.
As I am writing this,
I unbutton the collar
of my dress.
But I will go on…
His thighs are taut,
pumping in and out,
my sighs signify his clout.
His hips are small but mighty,
as he empties himself
into my bedroom.
As I am writing this,
I take off my heels
and my dress is in a puddle,
gathered around my feet,
fingering myself,
waiting for him to arrive.
