It's
good that the force
which
drives my hard cock
occasionally
abates and allows
my
virulent and bootless passion
to
ameliorate and lessen for a time
It's
good that I sometimes feel soft
and
free and have no throbbing burden
of
an erection to contend with and appease
by
putting my hand down my pants
and
having to masturbate myself like crazy
every time I awake
It's
good that the images
of
your nipples and curves
and
the living pulses
of
the oyster pink dragon between your legs
sometimes
remain invisible
to
the X-ray vision
of
my lurid and thorny imagination
It's
good that the translucent demeanor
of
your wetness and your heat
the
perfume of your sexuality
The
convolutions and ripples
of your infinite and erotically attractive mind
and
the magnetic pull of your body
loses
the power to allure me
into
wishing unto our fates
the
infernal madness of kissing,
the
partial engagement of licking
and
the total theatre of unbridled cavorting,
wrestling,
fingering and tongueing
and
penetrating and biting and rolling
and
mauling and knowing and groaning
without
the mercy of withholding.
It's
good that some dawns I awake
Without
such thoughts upon me
And
that I find you didn't provoke me that night
With
naked images
Or
ambiguous messages
which
my hot cock and furious loins
Like
to play with and ponder
As
if there were ever the slightest hope
That
they would one day be called upon
To
burst into action
In
a sporadic and vociferous intercourse
Characterized
by sweat and rips
As
clothing was torn off and chucked
And
the grown ups got ...
lucky
enough
To
have their aches and torments
Completely
set to dormant
It's
good that you don't instigate
These
waves
Of
want with salacious invitations
That
you don't automatically catalyse in me
These
latent roars of desire
Causing
my tame cat state to erupt
Like
a bull in a documentary
Bumping
into trees
And
bellowing in the mist
I
don't know what it meant to me
To
ease the throbs I'm fighting
With
this little piece of writing
But
I guess that it's all I can handle
Putting
my fingers in the candle
Of
temptation and instinct
and
the call and thrall
Of
the flesh
It's
good that those thoughts remain distant
As
the chance of our bodies coexisting
Remain
practically non existent
But
I cant help my amorous imaginary peeking
Especially
when I'm somewhere
between waking and sleeping.
Sent from my iPhone
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