The scent of her
is thick on fingers,
lips, skin, sheets;
she leaves a trail of pheromones
wherever she goes,
inspiring late morning sessions
of fast and frantic fucking,
the kind where it’s hard to get enough,
hard to think finished is finished,
hard to do anything
but lay around and love her.

The soft of her eyes
is inviting, enticing,
entrancing, intoxicating;
she looks at what she wants and takes it,
molding and shaping it
to be a harder, faster,
stronger, better version of itself,
so that she can swallow it whole,
and leave nothing else
for anyone else.

No tags for this post.
This entry was posted in Love Poems, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.