By Krish Sharma
Dripping to her toes.
Viscous became her skin-
Waist burning like wild fire.
She was drowned in prurient gin.
A finger on her lips.
And the tongue that paints the neck-
Breathing at miles per hour.
Tearing apart our clothes to wreck-
Down her way she went,
Warm panting on my gut.
Soaked in liquid her hands,
Seductive voices trembled the hut.
Choking on manly sins.
Her eyes I liked them closed-
Heavenly symptoms that I felt.
Like an animal who's been dosed
Wanted to touch the ceiling.
Love made me lift her high-
Harsh turned the tension-
She shrieked but did not cry.
Creaking of the rosewood,
Seemed hungry for murderous rage. Hostile nailes digged into my shoulders,
Freed desires from lustic cage.
Pushed me away her seraphic leg.
As she sat on silk with yearn.
Nectar of her innocence,
Drooping down the satiny furn.
A taste that burned the room,
With steams running down her moans Devilish fever I had recieved.
Firmly devoured all pinkish toans.
By Krish Sharma
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