Valentine's Day Gift

This, this
Is what I will give you tomorrow,
For Valentine’s Day.

I hope you enjoy it,
As much as I will enjoy,
Giving it to you.

This will not be the lower-case “o”,
Not the sweet, gentle, heavenly,
Soft,
With me in you,
Orgasm.

You know the kind I mean,
With the smile,
Biting lip,
Whimpering,
Quiet to not wake the kids,
Kind.

Certainly not the early morning “o”,
Wound up in the sheets,
Hugging,
Wrapped around each other,
Tenderly and slowly,
Wetly,
Welcoming the new day.

It won’t even be the pounding,
Driving,
Simultaneous,
Climaxing we often enjoy.

No,
Tomorrow will be the,
Screaming, tearing, wailing,
Very upper-case “O”,
(You know the kind),
That begins as a moan,
Becomes almost a groan,
Of physical pain,
Seeking relief,
A weeping cry,
With alternating pointed toes,
And curling feet,
Shaking legs,
And uncontrolled convulsions.

You won’t bite your lips,
Because the arch in your back,
The straining backward of your neck,
The crying of ecstasy driven anguish in your voice,
Will see to that.

Your arms, hands will flail,
Grab at the sheets,
Then at my head,
(I’ll risk the loss of some hair),
As the heaving,
Wriggling,
Writhing,
Wave after wave,
Of screaming,
That would send the kids,
Running, crying into the streets,
If they were home,
(They will be at your mother’s).

You will reach the point,
Where your scream will become,
Silent,
As the last breathes are,
Forced, squeezed from your lungs,
By the violence of,
This very, very,
Upper-case “OMG ‘O’”.

At the peak of your,
Ecstasy,
You will have in your hands,
Handfuls of my hair,
Forcing my head,
My mouth,
My tongue,
Ferociously,
Even savagely,
Nearly impossibly more intimately,
Against your,
Throbbing cunt,
Your swollen clit,
Seeking both,
More,
And a finish,
To this,
Valentine’s Day
Gift,
From me,
To you,
With love,
Wrapped up in lust,
And tied with a ribbon of,
Animalistic rapture.