When I'm trying to get there, my left eye is scrunched.
My breathing is irregular while my mouth is twisted.
My legs are obtuse and I'm uncontrollably shaking.
"Concentrate!" That's voice in my head says.
His fingers flick my clit over and over again.
My wet juices is like glue on his fingers.
The sound of it all turns me on.
I love this song, he's playing it well.
Fuck! I'm can't believe I'm about to cum.
As I peek, my heart skips a beat. My volcano erupts.
Juices run down my leg as i tremble underneath him.
"Stop," I whisper. But he doesn't.
He keeps flicking.
His tongue meets my neck.
His tongue and his fingers match a beat.
"Shit!" I moan.
This nigga is trying to make me squirt.
I did.
My common sense leaves my body as well of more of my juices.
We lay in a puddle of my love. But my mind is still processing, rebooting, CTRL+ALT+DEL.
Damn, what's today? What time is it? I have class in the morning.
Fuck class!
Whew chile, I feel great.
His lips met mine as he says, "Turn over,"
YOU ARE READING
Cloud 9ine
PoetryCloud9ine is a series of poems about my emotions, frustration, and sexual relations. This is dedicated to my "friend(s)", who all make me feel some type of way. I wish I wasn't such a honey bee.
