Here you come with your
scintillating simper and your
slow sanguine swagger attempting to
stop my sumptuous sauntering stilettos and
send me salivating for some sexual solution.

“Baby, can I have some?” you ask in a pitiful way.

I find your assorted
sensual suggestions seem to
sway my reluctant sentiment.
And I see your words inflate your semi-stiffened and
tease my succulent sodden sweet satisfaction.

Hmm…Should I give in?

For a spell, we’d be spicy
seductive lovers swerving and squirming sideways.
And my lusty syrup would
surround your strong slithering steel.
And you would stuff and smash my sensitive slit.

Sublime sensations would remain suspended…

until your slapping sliding sucking
screwing would stiffen and stifle and succumb to your summit
shooting staccato streams of a soulful substance.

“Babe?" I'd ask, "What about me?”

And then, there you’d go with your
satiated sweaty smile staggering and shifting and
settling and smoldering and squelching the potential for seconds.
Your sluggish slowing and slouching would
invariably end in a strident snoring sleep. Shit.

“Mmm, no not tonight, babe,” I answer.