deepundergroundpoetry.com
Fornicatable Woman
a man just wants to fuck.
it’s up to the woman to set the mood
if she doesn’t want to be merely raped.
to adorn the lair of her entrancement: scented
candles, ambient music or silence, sheets to
withstand the ferine stains of lovemaking.
to create herself as an angel, a seductress, a
whore-goddess. garnish your nipples with a gentle
rubbing of cherry, or merlot, or various other flavors.
use your imagination. it’s an aperitif.
nails polished, or left unpainted, depending on his
preference: the taste he wants in his mouth when he
sucks your toes.
in passion’s bed, be a pampered savage. luxuriate, as
he explores the curving terrain of your body. as he
worships at the altar of your sweet oasis.
offer your ass, Woman – I require it. to be licked and bitten,
until, in my dementia, I administer a sound spanking.
when the flames inside radiate, the lovers glide into a
favored position of carnal embrace. I take my Woman
face down, hips slightly raised, so that when I enter her,
my abrasive cock torments her clitoris properly.
a man believes that he ravishes a Woman, that he conquers
her trembling femininity by the strength of his warrior ethic.
but it is you, Woman, who manipulates the puppet strings…
(I know a few things, Woman, but not many,
so well are your secrets barricaded.)
you map the course, and I will take you to heaven…
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