The Cunning Linguist | Poetry Vibe
The Cunning Linguist
This poet practices good karma and posts comments 13800
contest winner
lightness in the dark
For every beautiful woman that you see somewhere, somewhere there's a man who's tired of looking at her.

Site Rank

GENERAL

  4 star general
Total poems   186
Lifetime Views   40651
Total poems - 7 days   0
Total poems - 30 days   0
Total poems - 90 days   0
Total poems - 365 days   0
you need to login or register to leave a comment

Sex Scenario: Pouring Rain

CATEGORY

erotic

Views: 148

The element of water is much needed to survive, that's 2 parts hydro oxygen for breathing deep inside, all scents of Mother Nature dwelling in between your thighs, with you I'm Maya Angelou, a touch and still I rise.

The shower water's beating like a drummer go insane, it drizzles as it bangs and brings to mind the pouring rain, we ride the ganja leaf as I begin to tour your frame, the steaming mist envelopes us, we fly like soaring planes.

A drenching kiss that makes us slip, we're goin under too, the sky's alive, the lightning strikes and brings the thunder too, my legs collapse like Autobots to slide up under you, your right leg's now on my left shoulder, aint no runnin boo.

The 1st lick of those certain lips exhales your breath away, the 2nd through the 30th go past like yesterday, and minutes after fastening my mouth to man your boat, a liter's worth of candy jam goes slamming down my throat.

Your hips do grind and so do mine except some time has passed, you hold for dearest life, you're like a vice, so tight to stab, but once the motion activates we form like Wonder Twins, which has me quartered safe in you like I was Gunga Din.

The shower nozzle's open to a full blown water blast, the way our skin is smacking loudly, it just oughta splash, you throw it back like Brady when the Pats and Dolphins clash, or moreso like you walk the streets and look to ball for cash.

It feels like Heaven's open with the angels washing down, but even heavy shower water can't wash out the sounds, of passion resonating through a frosted wall of glass, my seed does not impede with speed, into your walls I crash.

A 2nd wind of stamina embraces me like fam, I'm like a stick of granite still, that's just the man I am, who don't mind puttin in extra work that'll leave us sore with pain, the shower's like we're outside sexin in the pouring rain.

 

You must be registered to leave a comment. Registration is FREE.

Register

COMMENTS

No comments. Be the first to enter a comment.

login below

Forgot your username?