Painted Passion

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She stands there painting her door.
He comes behind and seizes her;
Pressing against the wet paint, she oh adorers.
As the clothes are ripped off of her.
Her hands into his and drawn above her head;
His lips tantalizing naked skin.
Tongue curls and lashes to please;
Neck, breasts, naval need I say more.
Hard core it becomes, raw in paint.
She is wet and he knows,
How to consume her to his passion.
The door paint streaks as they mount.
Eyes of fucking passion meet, for a sexual bout.
They become one out for the count,
intertwining on the floor.
This is a withdraw, an independence
It began when she said hello;
Falling to my knees, her resonance
Has got me all stirred and the heart bellows.
The absence of her taste, oh her taste…
Has been ecstasy off my tongue.
A cataclysmic crash, a taunting craze; and
Its echoes amplifying conflict in this crowded heart.
But I continue to ignore
As bodies intertwine on the floor; but
There is something more.
Something I believe that should be adored.
As my tongue dances on her; enticing.
Self control has become the voided option; as
Everything about her has beauty; but
not everyone can see it;
The privilege of her trust.
Is something I hold dear, and must.
To see her beauty, inner beauty;
brings out rare quality in me.
I watch her quiver uncontrollably;
an arch of lust, oh my Wonderwall.
She desperately pulls away; and
yet she embraces at the same time.
Lost in the moment;
time suspended on this dangerous path.
Yet I’m comfortable with this;
Risking lost moments well worth
A reminder of this, which has gone for far too long;
An honest ravish of raw passion, we give into.


◄ Losing Battle

Judge My Love ►


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