Pussy Connoisseur

The reflection of us in a room of mirrors, playing scenes on a rumpled
bed of satin..words sit on my lips that I can’t quite convey

My feet rest on broad shoulders
these legs a perfect frame for his face..he, spelling his name in circles; an artist, my pussy is where he paints beautiful murals with his tongue

Created a mystery, he tells me I was meant to be discovered…
Taking his time he sucks of me the sweetest of fruit that hangs from any vine…greedy…he swallows me
enjoying the taste of me

I am awakened like the blossoms of spring from winters cold..

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