poetry

Le Meilleur Plaisir Qui Soit

artfoto-devushki-dym-lyudi-6973

He’s crafty,
with his shaft,
you see the way my legs are shaking.
He loved,
licking me viciously,
locking me in a hold rotating,
until my need was aching.
The most best pleasure ever.
le Meilleur plaisir qui soit
Teasing my yearns, my desire until
they burned, into compact pieces, leaving my limbs,
vigorously overworked,
weak and totally speechless.
He effortlessly flipped me,
sipped me,
pulling me back in,
to his captivity,
to once again,
chase me,
repeating,
staring,
biting his lip greedily
So in tune to my needs speed,
ebbs and flows,
attentively watching,
the comings and goes,
harder his form,
now slower,
more powerful,
tasting,
pacing
back to faster,
kissing my lips
as I cried out,
Maestro, in pleasure!
Massaging my hips,
without ever stopping,
kissing my skin,
rocking my body,
putting me in an arousal pin,
as I simultaneously cryed joyously, and grinned
Treasuring and measuring
my depth’s reaction to speak,
my body gave way watching,
as he peeked .
Thats when my tongue was drenched in French,
le meilleur plaisir qui soit.
He delve so deliciously deep,
I was critically aware of his taste,
as he poured his entire life into me, without a single drop–ever wasting.

Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Le Meilleur Plaisir Qui Soit         (The Most Best Pleasure Ever) Thinker on the Loose

Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.

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