mercoledì 20 novembre 2013

If Poetry be the Food of Love.

I AM A CUNT!

He enters my bedroom sheepish, his feet shuffle
He looks at me, my face and then my crotch
He looks at my crotch and again my crotch

He slips onto the bed, still clothed,still robed
He looks at my panties and then my crotch
He looks at my crotch and again my crotch

He slides a finger inside my panties and waits
He looks at his hand and then my crotch
He looks at my crotch and again my crotch

His fingers pull the elastic, of my panties
And it is there to see, my crotch
He looks at my crotch and again my crotch

He slides my panties along the contours of my legs
And I am naked and there is my cunt
He looks at my cunt and again my cunt

He lowers his head and bows and groans
His lips and his tongue say hello to my cunt
He embraces my cunt and licks my cunt

He speaks to my cunt in the tongue of sex
He converses in tongues the language of CUNT
He mumbles to my cunt, he groans to my cunt

He cuddles my cunt with his cheek
Rubbing his stubble against my cunt stubble
He washes my cunt and my cunt washes him

He slides a finger and then another in my cunt
They slip like eels into a bathing cunt
He moistens my cunt, he liquidises my cunt

He doesn't want me only my cunt,my cunt
I am a gooseberry, an intruder, the cunt is courted
The cunt is desired, the cunt is possessed

And they talk for hours and they talk in groans and they talk in damp canyons and they talk in loud moans and they talk with great passion and they talk with an intimacy and they talk with love, a love for the cunt,my cunt but for the moment his cunt!

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