coursing hands

so small her coursing hands
seemingly through my being
not feeling the poison
inside that place past my breaking point

twinkle twinkling little toes
with her not a square inch of a problem
                                                   for my mouth
with four legs of no race
hair falls to intertwine
slipping loose is such a mixed pleasure
such that can only be partially artificial

coursing coursing
the only forced things
come with a mix
pleasure and pain

those coursing little hands
how I want them to keep cumming to caress
the width of what I am

Poem by: M.E.L.