My Happy Christening.

What's your face,doing down there,

I want 2 smell the scent of us,way up here.

But it seems,you have, other ideas.

Bountiful ideas.

Bootyful ideas.

Semenly ideas,

Is what's cumin strong.

Nailing me down,on the cushioned floor,

you further continue,2 excavate my hole.

Beautifully wide spread,my lips exposed,

dripping down my thigh,is yolk,cinnamon,and cloves.

Nose examines,and drills inner hole,

Travel your tongue,long wondorous roam.

A spit of wine,skates from your nose,

As a decorative plate,you admire my pose.

And sip the sip, off my thighs,legs,and toes.

Anything goes.

Anything goes.

As a highly tuned spring,I bounce,merely 2 un-wind,

2 the tune,that happens,

Time,after,time.

A heave of my hips,further pulls you 2 my I-ee.

At the edge of the cliff,all boundaries cast aside.

And as a quickie goes,

I roam no more,

no more,

but sprinkle

your face

with

the

juice

of

A

whore.

©Wired6. 02/12/2021