Bent like so — her wet, bushy cunt is just
beyond the reach of your mouth. My tongue swirls
against your hard bud. Swirl, twirl then a thrust,
sucking your skin in. You grind. You cowgirl
my chin. With two fingers quaver you spread
her, run them back and forth, sink them in, twist,
curl. I’m cock-slapping your clit. Your forehead
is slick from where she rested as you kissed,
honey-suckled her, tempest in your throat.
Honey-blossom, passion is so fragile
in our loneliness. Cashed out blunt, wineglass,
a line of poetry that you misquote —
It’s all good. You smile as you make her mewl.
I smile as I grind away in your ass.