I need not wait for the heartstrings to play, to hear a rhythm as your manhood becomes passion’s musical instrument. I only crave, and the utopia of your lust waltzes by, the deliciousness of you dancing inside. My lessons, the technique of bodies pulsating accompanied by orgasm’s piano to the melody of your erection, taught by you, my labia now master dancing. In precision to the notes of your intention, lyrics quip after your concert, I will never again require any warm-up.
Copyright © 2017 Angela Marie Suor