She tortures me!
She's a muse I accuse
for the tremors in my mind.
That on my Richter scale,
surpass the highest unit...
I fear my mind might rapture,
if she sends me and earth quake.
She seduces me...
Lifts her slit,
as if the piece that peeks-
is not enough to keep-
me on my scarred knees.
I want her so bad,
Yet have her at illusive disposal...
She toys with me...
I am her action figure,
I flex my muscles for her;
body, heart, brain, and soul
as she puppeteers my ingenuity.
I play fool for her satisfaction,
but together we orgasm and create.
She makes me feel barren...
Without her I cannot give birth,
so I feel feminised in her presence,
I might be quill equipped and ink dipped;
but without her, I can't break creativity's hymen...
And when she visits I fertilise,
and she helps me conceive virgin concepts.
She mothers me...
Used to lay me in her bosom,
milked my needs to nurture me,
tamed the boy that I was-
into a man with an iron hand...
I now wrought what she drafted,
and she admires our hand crafts.
She loves me...
She gives me all she is,
a goddess that serves me with ease-
I wish her modesty I would return,
for it's hard not to feel loved in turn...
But for all her worth,
I am her kinky love slave...
If she chocked me with inspiration,
for her I would rest peaceful in satisfaction.
She, she is to me,
What life is to the dead;
A chance to live again .
She's a muse I accuse
for the tremors in my mind.
That on my Richter scale,
surpass the highest unit...
I fear my mind might rapture,
if she sends me and earth quake.
She seduces me...
Lifts her slit,
as if the piece that peeks-
is not enough to keep-
me on my scarred knees.
I want her so bad,
Yet have her at illusive disposal...
She toys with me...
I am her action figure,
I flex my muscles for her;
body, heart, brain, and soul
as she puppeteers my ingenuity.
I play fool for her satisfaction,
but together we orgasm and create.
She makes me feel barren...
Without her I cannot give birth,
so I feel feminised in her presence,
I might be quill equipped and ink dipped;
but without her, I can't break creativity's hymen...
And when she visits I fertilise,
and she helps me conceive virgin concepts.
She mothers me...
Used to lay me in her bosom,
milked my needs to nurture me,
tamed the boy that I was-
into a man with an iron hand...
I now wrought what she drafted,
and she admires our hand crafts.
She loves me...
She gives me all she is,
a goddess that serves me with ease-
I wish her modesty I would return,
for it's hard not to feel loved in turn...
But for all her worth,
I am her kinky love slave...
If she chocked me with inspiration,
for her I would rest peaceful in satisfaction.
She, she is to me,
What life is to the dead;
A chance to live again .
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