THE TASTE OF YOU

The taste of you,
from you-know-where,
is like sweet glue
through pubic hair.

How I enjoy
making you run
as I employ
my licking tongue!

With your hands tied
to back of bed,
my mouth applied
in your legs' spread.

You can't resist
my head's advance
when I have kissed
where you wore pants.

My hands keep thighs
helpless apart,
I hear your sighs
at tonguing's start.

Brush of my beard
on barer skin
welcomed, not feared,
as tongue probes IN.

I hear your moans,
ever higher,
from wakened zones,
fanning desire.

You can't stay still,
your hips now buck,
your will's my will,
lick turns to suck.

I then suck on
your risen clit,
hard pink button,
nibbling a bit.

The sensation
that from this shoots
in diffusion
to head hair's roots.

You make it plain
you'll take no more.
In pleasure-pain,
your desire's raw.

I bring my head
up to your lips
while pencil lead
pierces 'twixt hips.

Bringing your taste
straight to your mouth
while below waist
you're drilled down south.