The Naked Canvas
Your manhood wisps
the skin
of my lips,
and the buds of my tongue
dance
in anticipation.
Each vein
holds the beat of your heart
pounding,
as you glide deep,
fitting like the final
piece of a puzzle.
Hot, sweet nectar bursts,
nurturing my delight
in pleasing ,
and reminding me
of an art,
as old as man.
the skin
of my lips,
and the buds of my tongue
dance
in anticipation.
Each vein
holds the beat of your heart
pounding,
as you glide deep,
fitting like the final
piece of a puzzle.
Hot, sweet nectar bursts,
nurturing my delight
in pleasing ,
and reminding me
of an art,
as old as man.
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