I wouldn't lie!
The thought of your tender mould,
Like adrenaline vines all my veins!
Those inviting lips closely wetted...
Down those eager appealing neck of yours Which beautifully ushers in the tantalizing segments...
The portion that betrays your womanhood. A succulent, furious yet tender!
Little wonder your maker capped it; A crown of pleasurable humiliation
Sending fluid down those vasculatures
Tracing down those blossoming bubbles
I only grade a shape of sickle
A mould worth appraisal
Sending me rapidly to that point of crucial ecstasy.
Were all pain is forgone...
I can only yearn for thy sensual touch With hands akimbo
Standing in awe of such wonder Woman!
