Black sex sings like a siren against my white sheets.
What quilted questions can I answer,
With my tongue lodged in your pink lips,
While the sadomasochistic sunlight slinks slowly
Through blue blinds?
His height like the distance between me and the universe
musculature spicy beneath my hands.
Take me over,
woman as Kingdom to command,
woman as Empire to be appeased with bread and circuses.
Chocolate syrup and heating pads are bread.
Deftly his fingers will do stunts beneath the canopy of my dress.
Her unhurried sex voice scrounges
for an ear to curl up in.
I officiated at a wedding of vagabonds and
was paid in grape soda.
So many illicit desires swirl and eddy under my face.
hot Roman sex beckons behind screens.
The hot tub is a cauldron of desire.
You slake my thirst for you in the dark
while the neighbors burn in their beds.
The Saturday thrill and Sunday chill
of you sliding my bikini bottoms off,
undoing my top
makes a furious steam.
You own this place.
Sex is like the syrup I smother my pancakes with.
Sex is smothering until your toes curl,
being Emperor Palpatine to goodness.
Lick me like the last orange juice in the glass.
Oh I am candid.
Oh I am sure.
I will burn stars in your eyes
I will be filthy and pure