Imagine His Voice

Did she imagine his voice calling out?
With her face lost between her master’s cheeks
Her tongue is pressed to his bung; she’ll not pout,
But lick and suck and tease him, as he speaks
Or rather, whispers, inarticulate
Again, because her tongue is quite precise
And her hands are well trained; they masturbate
Him slowly as she presses home, concise
And quite direct (he wants it); her approach
Is one that he has yearned for; he has praised
Her long enough and will have her encroach
Upon his space – it’s personal – she’s gazed
Up at him long enough – now she’ll begin
And hear him calling out: “that’s it, girl, rim!”