Tags
cunnilingus, curled clit with spit, curlicue, erotic poetry, fisting, poem, ravenous depravity, sonnet
I curl my fist inside you feel the slow
wet flow begin. You gnash and thrash and soak
my wrist until your voice is raw, too, though
I still keep it in. At times you mewl, “Choke
me when you fuck me.” At times I do. Lips
sloshing between your hips, your curlicue,
lathered teat: curled clit with spit. Acid trips
don’t last as long as I do down on you
while your spine shivers, mouth O, your haunted
eyes go blind. Few taste this sweet. Few can fit
me as you do. First below. Then above.
Round and around. First the flow, then the flood.
Who owns you? Whose teeth nibble at your clit?
Who taught you that depravity is love?
