Mine

He wants to make love, and he’s oblivious to the love we make as the day breaks on the other side of our slightly tilted louvred windows as we listen intently to the oceanic waves that rush into the shore with such violence, whilst his morning wood arouses my flow.
 
And when he says
“mine…”
he really means  
to convey  
that my silky  
glistening
tight wet  
holiness
belongs to him  
for him to nourish
whilst  
he focusses on
violating & pleasuring
me
beyond expectation
until I’m gasping
for breath
awaiting  
the impending
little deaths
he triggers  
whilst harnessing  
the power that
possesses  
my heart & soul
as he drives me
further into depth
of his
wilderness  
with the  
length & width
of his
pulsating
devotions  
to navigate  
the sensitivities
that emerge  
when he’s balls
deep  
and we’re  
connected deeply
as his breath  
becomes  
mine  
whilst he leaves  
me
breathless  
as my aesthete
being
responds
to his
tantalising
ways
as he whispers
utter filth
about the way
my shaven  
cherry pink  
bare cunt
is splayed  
and  
sometimes
gaping
for him  
which  
triggers a
streaming  
gushing flow
and  
an avalanche
of  
thoughts & feelings
keeps us anchored  
as I crumble
beneath the weight  
of his frame
as he knows
how to
push the boundaries
when I instruct  
him
to fuck me
harder & deeper
until it hurts so good
and when he’s done
we make love
his way
gently with a hard
grind that leaves me
quivering.
 
Because  it’s all the same when he kills me softly and he watches the sweet violence that emerges in the little deaths he elicits, and I scribe my name upon the head of his throbbing hard godliness with my tongue until he grips me by the hair, and quenches my thirst as he unleashes his godly nectar, and I swallow every last drop of his seed before he kisses me with the kind of intent that tells me all I need to know.