The Woodland Air

The morning sun still heats the woodland air,  
The bramble blossom and the clover heads:
These will be crushed, once he's reached down to tear
Her dress right off; and she has knelt to pledge  
Allegiance to his virile member; lips
Will part so loyally, as he intrudes:
The shaft follows the cock head, so the tip's
Pressed right against the throat; and it exudes
Such confidence, it is bound to be sucked
With joyous resignation by the slut,  
Who wants that grip to ensure she's face fucked -
It is his right; before they start to rut,
He presses her right down, so brambles tear
Her flesh; as she inhales the woodland air.
 
M