GIVING YOU A POUNDING (INSPIRED BY MUSICALLY MR M'S POEM)

We share a naked mirror view,  
back to me I position you.  
My hands knead your shoulder muscle,  
untaut it after day's bustle.  
In your head hair I lose my nose,
sniff hairspray perfume's smell of rose
and nuzzle your head to one side;
you exhale, your mouth dropping wide.  
I kiss on your ears and neck's nape,  
hand strays to savour your breast shape.  
Its nipple's peaking, curves rounding  
as I squeeze on it. Hearts sounding,  
we can feel through chest and back skin.  
Tool uprighting, craves to get in  
as its head rubs on your ass curve.  
Your back sinks to my front. "It's lurrvve",  
I drawl, 'I want to make to you;  
I've touched no other, I've bin true.'  
You turn your face round to meet mine,  
kiss lips to lips, you dig my line.  

Meanwhile my left hand downward strays  
to your labia, with it plays,  
stroking each side of the haired slit  
and thumbing to life your pearl clit.  
Each finger stroke goes ever deep  
until your cream begins to seep.  
Your hips writhe as you're wettening.  
My fulled size is not threatening  
but now welcomed on contrary;  
you're moaning, 'I want you in me!'  
 
You tire of this spot, so instead  
you pull me by hand to the bed,  
push off the sheets, roll on your back,  
open legs wide. On you I stack,  
slip my tool in, our moans  sounding,  
settling into pelvic pounding,  
making the bed springs squeak in time,  
rhythm like a staccato rhyme.  
 
I'm too fixated in your core  
to let my point from you withdraw.  
My thrusts persist as if I am  
someone trying to breach a dam,  
seeking spot of least resistance  
to my libido's insistence,  
until we seal our longed-for deed  
in the deposit of my seed.