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Click hereMy wonderful winsome witch wants to fly.
You reach for your big magic broom,
whiskery bristles brush your bush,
a rush of bliss. Your hand holds tight,
hard to hold, hefty and thick,
throbbing thrills, thinking a hot night.
Stiff staff stirs between your legs
like a knife in your naked notch;
stimulating speed boils your cauldron over,
Your siren scream of satisfaction,
relish rapid ride rapture.
Survivor Poet's Choice, Trigger 16
Clever use of the trigger words although I do think you've gone a bit overboard with the commas