Rhyming Tom

I watch your mouth. You stroke my face. The air is think with awkwardness.

Who wants to pull the trigger? You first.


I am a mess, a bleeding and bloody mess. An oozing machine of swollen flesh.

I convulse and purr like an old car. You smear my cum into my hair. I don't want us to leave it there.


Drink makes me inhibitions non existent. You offer minimal resistance.

You take advantage in my bed, you fill me, I'm sodomised, I yelp, I hurt, I beg. I give you head.

I am smeared, coated, covered.
In love, in lust, unbothered.
Sex does that sort of thing, when everything around you stops existing.

Time stops ticking.
Listening.
Ticking.

I curl into you, stroke your thigh. Harden up, with no surprise. A whisper in your mouth and then, it sort of happens all again.