She Drips Words
She drips her words like rain and aching cunts,
Her meter perfect, porn; she paints her art.
She's high class, mind of a geisha, She Wolf; hunts,
The detailed devils work in angel's heart.
A sonnet is her chosen poem form,
With words that coax the mind to sultry bliss.
I think of her wrists bound and panties torn,
Imagine strokes of tongue in stolen kiss.
A lover of the arts and sex, with words,
Each line she writes is perfectly controlled,
A banquet of delight like flight of birds,
She wraps her rhyme o'er peaks and folds.
Dark chocolate nights with dotted fresh, white cream,
This bard's word skill is perfectly obscene.