Like An Atlas
My lips travels many routes and places,
Varying on the geography of my lines and prose.
Punctuating at pit stops on poetry and quips.
Your hips rise in acceptance of my quill-prick,
On rhythm of blues sensual and raw shaking.
My cock rocks like a seesaw quaking.
Parting of the thighs like highways divide,
My fingers caress in all the best shops,
Of your womanhood and erotic boutique.
Bopping in time my penis salivating,
As if searching for your hidden places.
In your face on interstate 69.
Like an atlas your flesh seduces my sways,
Beyond seductions and halfway home we rest.
Composing on your cunt with my tongue.
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