Thunder-Struck

Freudian slip
Why wouldn't you?
She was seriously hot
In all her young glory
Boots, tanned legs, tasty
Short peasant dress, I saw flowers
Those eyes, a piercing
In her cute as hell nose
Young fucking seductress
My big and fortunate knob
Wet lately isn't it?
Heavy sigh, completely wasted
I had tasted living ecstasy
Her acrid smell, dripping
Over me