Your legs on my shoulders,
Head hanging off the edge of the bed.
wiggling your bottom,
Your face turning red.
Your teeth clenched in passion,
Your throat giving vent,
To loud moaning sounds,
As inside you I'm spent.
Grinding your hips, to catch every last drop,
Even though it's over I don't want to stop.
You rake your nails across my chest,
As you mumble slowly, baby your'e the best.
Don Juan Tenorio
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem