aslant, erotic poetry, finger fucking, more sleaze please, Poetry, problem with grownups, screaming orgasm, sonnet
After dinner your mom pours the coffee
while the grownups gossip. You take me up
to your room. We sit on your bed, your knee
pressed up against mine while distant grownup
voices come from down the stairs. “They’ll hear us
if you do that,” you warn. “I know I’m … loud.”
More than just loud: each time you’re a circus
of sound. You cum with the noise of a crowd
brawling. Hormones tow us. Our bodies
aslant. Sex spray. Lovesick sparks through your clit.
Once your mom caught us; called this sin. Parents
are odd ducks. It’s all sin to them. Your cunt’s
muscles flex. They know we’re both freaks, misfits.
They know if I move you’ll shout: “More sleaze, please!”