Posted in Poem: English | Categories: Erotic | Tags: orgasm, breast, kiss, ghost, Wet, poem, pleasure, bosom
her share of ghost
do you know the mystery of a girl in misery?
who's afraid of a ghost who rendered her weary.
her looks is divine, in a truely angelic face,
she carry herself nice, but come a day, she lost her grace.
there was once a time she held dear, this bud,
so precious that if lost, her mom would be mad,
her looks is divine, the times of girlie craze,
she carried herself nice, but lost her subtle ways.
heavy eyes went close on her first ever lip kiss,
she was delirious and lost, hence, started to miss,
a fine hand's sweet caress on her young delicate breast,
as she fill her memory with lies of a drowned protest.
then a kiss trailed from neck down to her nipples
like a delicious toss in a steady wave of ripples,
somebody's licked her bosom, tho she wont let,
she tried to carry herself nice, but way down she got wet.
A hand tickled her legs, crawled to a first touch,
on to something between her legs that itched no match,
she's never been unsure as fine fingers frolicked her core,
if she can carry her loins wise in such tormenting pleasure.
her weary legs trembled, she can't keep it closed,
as a probing tongue licked her midst, her mind got lost,
she looked divine while her groin shoots in fiery spasm,
as she cry and bury her nails tight, she convulsed to orgasm.
well, this is the misery...