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He'd lick your fingers, one by one
caress in turn each eager bun,
and within seconds he would slide
to find his welcome deep inside.
There, like a boy, he'd romp and play
and, due to ambience would stay.
Until deflation bids good-bye
and he withdraws without a sigh.
Behind is left a small deposit
a skeleton within her closet.
It mixes with her geyser's fluids
and all his fishes now get to it
they travel to the Northern section,
meanwhile he feels a new erection.
She pulls, with nails so sharp they hurt
and soon they energise and spurt,
a smile takes over her red lips
while there is movement in their hips
and taste is all, you don't or do
from Southern lands the swallow flew.
Herbert Nehrlich
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