ON MY TONGUE

On my tongue    
you have hung,  
as it twists,    
while your wrists    
tied to head    
of the bed    
and your thighs    
my arms prise    
wide apart    
at the start    
as my face    
met your place,    
shaven bare    
of its hair.    
    
Each lickle    
did tickle    
in your slit    
and on clit,    
and its dips    
in-out lips    
that can't speak,    
only leak    
with the juice    
you produce.    
I drank deep    
of the seep    
like a bee    
on honey,
for that stream
is your cream.  
   
I told you    
that bulls do    
this to cows    
to arouse    
when they mate,    
procreate  
the next calf.  
Heard you laugh:  
"So, your cow  
am I now?"  
   
Your desire    
set on fire    
to be fucked,    
How you bucked
and arched back
on the sack    
as the feel    
made you squeal    
ere my bone    
pierced the zone.    
Powerless    
and breathless    
you gave up    
to the tup.  
 
Then you bid  
I undid  
the binding  
while grinding,  
so you could  
spur my wood,  
squeezing butt.  
Your nails cut
as you wreaked,
revenge seeked.