His Desire
BabyDoll
His desire is the febrile flame That licks me at my tender hinds, His lust is victim for the blame For his clever, fertile mind.
His violent tongue is the torrid plate Upon which my spoils are served, His need for the taste is thus the fate That we both so well deserved.
His surgent lips are the fervid bed Upon which my blush is lain, His raging blood is boiling red From the pulchritude of my pain.
His hallowed hand, the keenest knife That cuts clean through my callow skin, And mine is the sweet, impeccant life That his desire is born within.
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