Savoring remnants of your
sweet emulsion
extracted from our
daily head ritual,
I express
one little ole
special request.
Bae,
would you
upload
your playlist
on my pussy?

Please, strike a
pop pace first.
No
metronome required.
The thump of your
heartbeat
sets the tempo,
while your fingertips
part my thighs
and pat out a
syncopated p-funk
on my pussy.

Share two songs or
three exceptional
selections from the
passion category.
Open
my blushing pink
with
an electric rock and
distribute
a rhythm and
a refined blues
on my pussy.

Coax my diamond
out of hiding
by autographing
your name across
the hood.
Use a neo-soul
vibe while you
inscribe each consonant
on my faceted tip.
Soak each vowel in
the honey drippings
from my pussy.

Whisper wet words
on my
tingling wings.
Moan the music.
Push your
sound waves and
press your
vibrations
deep inside.
Let me ride your
rhythmic riptide
with my pussy.

Lick a lyric
on my inner thigh,
the left one;
lap a stanza
on the right,
and linger right there...
Cause me to beg
your lips for
another verse
of your jazz,
an arousing encore
on my pussy.

Blur the lines
between
a melodic-make-love
and an oral fuck.
Hum a delicious ditty and
make me arch my back
and thrust my hips into a
shudder that meets
your s-s-stuttered
f-f-fluttering flicker and
your flapping licker
on my pussy.

Press the button,
put your playlist
on pause,
and grant me
just one more wish.
Would you plug
your thick
eager cable
into my
USB port?
I mean
my pussy... please?