My world lies between your thights

Quite a plain girl with mousey hair
no great beauty captured there
a second glance without extravagances face
demure in a Marks and Spencers way

the bar stool turned she uncrossed her legs
its significance spoke many words
in her iris a glint a wink concealed
broken ice on her first cocktail

we lay on Egyptian cotton sheets
our nakedness electric fields
the angels sing on the potters wheel
the clay we are will mold each detail

breasts were kissed and the nipples lift
out minds spinning on desires axis
for between her thighs exquisite femininity
she showed me ultimate womanly

not a cunt or fanny twat a vagina bare
but a ripe peach that nestled there
to taste its juice and find its stone
the colitis sprung from its burrow

despoil the fruit do as you please
my groans and screams await she did plead
for I am ripe for picking, fondle deep
my peach needs lots of cream

envisage it and your cock is primed
to part it and to slide inside
the cries of pleasure as you perform
the cum fest that would take new form

the cries that echo in nine months time
my life that lies within your thighs
the cycle of life on the potters wheel
the angels were shaping the future for me