panting.
your kiss took my breath hostage.
the minty fresh aftertaste had me seduced.
easily if your lipstick stained lips could kill.
I would be dead.
clawing.
scratching.
gasping.
the ripping tearing of clothes
your soft hands caressing my body.
poetry made you like a dream.
your light brown long locks.
your blue eyes in a erotic baby shade.
the seductive twinkle burning begging me to kiss you again and again.
but I'm only a fan.
I'm a Stan.
and this has me fuckin you mercilessly like you are already mine but you're not.
the taste I can't let go of.
as your mouth claims mine.
as our bodies crashing together.
catastrophes in time.
becoming callouses of a undead fame.
yet the taste of your lipstick got me high.
the soft touch of your hips cradling my hands.
naughty thoughts again and again.
I want you naked.
I want you with me.
yet I die every time you look at me.
two sapphire embers set to eat my heart alive.
the taste of your porcelain skin.
your perfume I inhale deep.
like huffing paint.
as I felt euphoria.
a intoxicating high.
yet here I stand.
your legs cradling my back.
your tongue entwain with mine.
the taste still sweet like candy.
I could kiss you all day and probably all night.
you were Jules and I was the lovesick fan who needed a sensual escape on life.
my hands caressing your breasts your waist as your thighs and your pussy felt like a river.
I left kisses All up and down your neck.
leaving dark red hickies reminding you of the night you can't forget.
my hands travel to your ass and gripped tight.
you moaned deeply intimately at my touch.
wanting more.
as I bended you over spanking you repeatedly.
my hands leaving you red and bruised but you love it.
wearing my handprints like a tattoo.
loving the scars and bruises like Battle scars.
knowing no one can fuck you this good.
your thighs quiver as I pounded you back and forth.
as you came so many times your knees went numb.
I kissed you below as you tossed and turned.
thinking this is some erotic dream.
some obscene nightmare but you love it.
till I wake up.
was it all a dream?
or was my tongue swimming near your stomach your kidneys?
as poetic as this is, nothing is as it seems.
©darkmocha
D