~ Dark Passion ~
The slipping tongue,
That shines, gleams, and glides,
Out of the mouth, the lips towards-
A better catch-
The sickly sweet, syrupy honey,
Which glistens as it falls,
In slow, glittering succession,
Of drops, onto this tongue-
Better than anything which this tongue-
Has yet poured out to touch-
In the open air,
While the gleaming of dark syrup,
And snaking tongue,
Finally become as one.
But . . .
I do wonder, how this bodily function,
Has enwrapped such lust, as this . . .
Because the blissful, caressing warmth,
Of this still unbelievable, true, gently tickling, cold, appendage-
Has taken inside . . .
All of my tender, womanly passion,
The sweet and most dear yet unnamed,
The courses, throughout my blood,
Inside of your loving folds forever.