13800
I'm sorry but it's been awhile so pardon if there's rust,
I know that you can tell how fast I harden from your touch,
the shadows dance by candlelight; we're sparkin up a dutch,
it's often just enough to have us coughin; what the f*€k?!
We're listening to Prince; I long to feel your purple rain,
your assets are enough to put a hurtin in the game,
I start by slowly lifting up the skirt against your frame,
my tongue is 'bout dispensing cunnilingual work again.
I feel the surplus condensation dripping down your @ss,
I told you there's no need for you to trip on clowns of past,
the way you're crying backwards to me gives off sounds of laugh,
ter; as my tongue moves faster; are you trying to drown a lad?!
Don't matter if you are because my breathing's apropos,
to push you to the edge then bring you back and that's fa sho,
I'm married to the sweetness of your fruit but can't elope,
the time is here my dear for you to feel my antelope.
Our moves are slow and fluid; never built on half'a lie,
you spear my hearing piercingly; I love your backward cries,
that Pennywise implied you couldn't hang but that's a lie,
you grip and then release me as I spill a half'a pint.
Your aftershocks are blasting rocks to pebbles 'cause I'm stoned,
and even when I'm far away you're never all alone,
the method of our music do transcend an MP3,
the treble of you crying backwards as you empty me.
©2017
The Cunning Linguist
