These Sheets Don't Wet Themselves
By climaks
Wrapped in this carnal silk
Beads of exhaustion christen you
Gasps of ecstasy waver your knees
To give way to fleshes dews
Riveting, writhing, relentless filth:
Radiant ravishing of corporeal angst
The parting of the seven sinful seas
Make screaks and sheets so quaint
Pulses of guilty pleasure
Lust’s vascular emancipation
An amatory espionage of stars
Indulge in the night’s masturbation
And thus, in it’s tantalization
We tenderize these helpless sheets
Warping their forms, facing the seams
Stripping them naked of dignity
The touch of a somatic somniloquence
Heeds the manual wrenches
Gripping, grinding, grating, gratifying
Dampening it’s stitches.
We set ablaze the cloths ruthlessly
Dictating our quickening friction
Inertia not factoring in this sex
Textile muffled in diction perdition
Adrenaline christening this bed
Under night’s demeanor burning red
Doused beneath our carnal silk
White sheets have lain and bled
Comments on "These Sheets Don't Wet Themselves"
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On Wednesday, July 21, 2010, HeadpatSlut
(257) wrote:
Powerful and packed with primal lust, I like it, thanks for the refreshing read.
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A former member wrote:
I'm honored that you were inspired by this poem and especially with a work as eloquent as this. This is an excellent poem.