snaking tongue traces it’s path of fire
tip circling then flicking back and forth,
across the centre of hot desire,
the smell and wetness, just swelling your girth,
with careful teeth, so tenderly bitten,
then around those swollen lips, your mouth moulds,
lapping juices, like a thirsty kitten,
tongue thrusting deeply between my flushed folds,
dark glowering eyes look up into mine,
knowing from moans, you’ve stoked my desire,
returning to core, tongue draws burning line,
as fingers stroke in my well of fire,
grinding down on you, in wanton release,
flooding face, as juices spurt from my crease.

6 thoughts on “Tongued

  1. Your words! I swear they always churn something inside me. They literally give me a quick rush, trigger a jolt of electricity to shock whole body. Your words are just… I don’t even think I have a word for them.

    You are my favourite erotic poet.


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