Lucidity

The only words he utters sound like grunts,  
When he's on top of me and pressing in;  
Who needs lucidity, when there are cunts  
To enter, fill and fuck? I should begin  
To thrust back up at him, show him my joy(!)  
And wrap my thighs around him, so he feels  
I'm quite in tune with him (being his toy);  
I wonder if he likes my cries and squeals?  
And will they take him to that turning point,  
With business nearly done, and he can splash  
His lust across my loins and, thus, anoint  
His chosen playing field? And, then, can crash  
Into a dreamless sleep, as he ensures  
My devotion is deepened by his snores.