Tags
clitoral hood, cum alone, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, hodge podge, hood, slurred glories, sonnet
Perhaps it was the flavor — the essence —
the smell. Perhaps it was the study hall
after school — meant for our math and science
homework. With doors locked the sunlight would crawl
out from the windows. It strayed, meandered,
returned back to the spot where you straddled
my face, grinding, while you sang out the slurred
glories of my tongue. You convulsed, bejeweled
my cheeks, chin, lip until I swallowed you,
hodge-podge, all the while your clitoral hood
rubbed me raw. Perhaps it was in that zone
before we went home, cum-dazed, stuck like glue,
peeling yourself back that I understood,
dear friend, I could live on your cum alone.