PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She ripped off my shirt,

unbuckled my leather, jerked

down my zipper, and pushed me

back on the bed; tugging at both blue

jean legs, and in a flash I’m exposed

underneath her. Naked she kissed

me with her tongue bowling up

the alleys of my thighs like a slow

moving caterpillar. When she

reached my two boys, I knew

it was already too late. She did not

want me to reciprocate, swallowing

me down like a nubbin caught

in a liquefied, solvating quagmire. I

felt the vacuuming of her lips, with

my member helplessly suctioned

into her mouth as if her throat

was practicing Kegals. She moved

up and down smoothly, occasionally

slowing slightly to look at me

with a brazen smile, as if to let

others know, back off; growling,

this is mine. I tried to rear my

orgasm, thinking of Polar Bears

trapped on the ice, but as cool,

and subtle as my attempts

to freeze my erection, it was rapidly

thawed; like an iceberg crashing

into the North Atlantic ocean

on a hot, artic diurnal, I was

dissolved into impromptu quivers

of her feline proficiency. Thus like

all men coming head-to-face

with any womanly competence,

as fast as it started, it was all over.