stomach tight, pressed to mine
wish i could find the kind
of device that could keep time
to the rhythm of your hips.
and your fingers opening my lips
when suddenly your breast tips
go hard and you suck in air
and whimper, 'that's not fair'
as i circle my tongue with not a care
for your tense thighs and your shaking
figure. you're grabbing my shoulders making
noises that make me giggle you're quaking
because your lips are wet and my tongue is fast
lying there limp and partly smiling
and almost dying
you look impressed.