Red dress. No knickers.
His fetishes proper British
Come hither,
The way his tongue flickers
The blacker the berry
Oh what a cherry to cherish.
I’m feeling kind of moreish
In this easy access,
Rather caught up by my Lace nets
Placements of your raised neck
Below my legs, appealing.
I’ve been meaning to change attire
All night this fire,
Benign to my fabric
Tricky the way your teeth grip
Warm breaths on my tight fit
You are the culprit
For these stains of heaven
Passing clouds… Eleven
My legs in a tremble
To your every movement
Puddle seeping
From the deep end
My entrance ready
For your steady stepping
Country gazing my city blazing
London’s burning, Big Ben
Your face is so deserving
For it’s time…
To come.
Goddess AímeMoi