Our Cup Runneth Over

(a sonnet)

A mouth in shapes of holy gasps inspired,
Her lips that drip as filled with sacred wine.
The hardness of my cock in her desired,
The raising of her prayers as she inclines.

In view of kneeling back’s devout display,
To show her waiting supplication’s spread,
With sweetest arch at invocation’s splay,
With deeper bow, as taken hilt to head.

As prostate, our communion we partake,
Her cunt rejoicing in our offered gifts.
How deep our psalms, as deep our thrusting takes,
As filling cup, our cries of praising lifts.

In nature of our prayers, I’m given rise.
That we should at this altar soon baptize.