On the day that is specifically designated for repenting, I can only think of sinning. Getting in and in it, digging from the inside out, your loins have a style and I'm just trying to fit in it. A couple kisses to the right spots and sure enough I got your body hot. I won't stop. Not til your voice spills over your mind to my ears. Not until your eyes swell and you start to pour tears. Hot steamy whispers stream out of your mouth as sweat drips down your forehead. And almost playfully you look down on me and ask me for more head. It's the morning, Sunday actually, and I haven't even had breakfast. And if I can get close enough, I can wear a pearl necklace. Pause.
But once the tide turns and I end up on top and sometimes behind you, doesn't matter the position as long as I'm inside you. And when you're with your friends I hope I can provide you...some type of visual memory to make you bubbly and fidgety. Only from the thought of you loving me and kissing me. Maybe it was the power of God on this Holy Day, bestowed to me, I present to you the words that'll make you say...
Sex on Sunday.
Monday, June 1, 2009
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