Um,Um,Um
There's no prose, poetry, verse or line
That could ever move me like she does.
Bare to my front, naked and soft,
Moving senuously, quivering, melting.
With a sudden rippling thrill,
Building and building, in raptures tease.
She clings to me, in a unconcious rhythm,
Sighing and moaning continuously.
Between kisses and near misses,
Famished for more flesh as racing heart beats rush.
We touch and touch.
Untill the strange potency of manhood
Falls asleep without demands.
Copyright © Carlus Wilmot | Year Posted 2010
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