My pet, please let the whisper of my mouth
caress your neck where pulse beats out my name.
This lover’s liquid residue flows south,
a tongue of sweet saliva to your flame.
A sparkling ribbon glistens like a tear
down chest and belly’s saturated sheen.
It leads to where your tangled curls appear
like waves of ocean emptied from a stream.
Let mighty tides ingest our fiery urge.
Let molten lava spatter on the shore.
Your mountain spews a fountain from the surge
of native drums we pound as if at war.
Come paint my peachy petals creamy white
and kiss my soft surrender to the night.
(Shakespearian Sonnet)
Iambic Pentameter
Phew! Stunning – like you, girl!
Awe, you are so sweet, HJ. Thanks for reading and messaging!
xoxoxo
Whew…
Girl, you can sonnet me anytime.
I’m filing that away, Adira. I’m assuming that Sam told you that I’m actually a witch. I like flying through moonlit windows at midnight and casting my spells on unsuspecting victims. How would you like riding bitch on my broom?
Hahaha. I’m nobody’s bitch. But I might consider letting you cast a spell or two. Just make sure he’s yummy. I might share 😉
Shakespeare is great but lacked the sexual energy that your iambic pentameter does.
I’m sure lovers would die in your arms if you read this to them.👍
I mean, Bill Shakespear had to keep it down in those days. I just let it go. I’m so glad you like this, Peter. I certainly hope my lovers don’t die in my arms. I prefer they melt in my mouth.
Melt in your mouth they must
when you’ve lit their fire of lust
I wish it were me
but sadly can’t be
so I’m off in a gust of dust.
LOL! Very good
😘
Shakespeare is blushing in his grave … so am I
Na, you never blush. I prefer to make you moan.