MIRROR OF PASSION
I look on thee, and find thee very fair,
Thy form so pleasantly stretch’d on thy bed,
The sunlight through the window on thy hair,
With cuntly thatch as scarlet as thy head.
So languidly thy hand doth beckon me,
To worship at the altar of thy quim,
As thou dost part thy lips that I might see,
That sanctum thou shalt never give to him.
My dress I leave bepooléd on the floor,
Thy perfect breasts I worship with my lips,
Thy cunt my tongue now trembles to adore,
Thy pungent nectar welling to my sips.
O sister, twin of mine, I love thee dear,
As tongues in quims bring ecstasy so near.
Sonnets are a little trickier than free verse. You have to follow a strict rhyme pattern and, at least generally, write everything in iambic pentameter. Erotic content is optional.
I’ll admit, there’s a personal element to the poem. I’m rather fond of the taste of an aroused pussy, and I’m even more fond of when the owner of that pussy is busy licking mine while I’m licking hers. I plan to continue enjoying this as long as I’m able. It’s good to be single. I can have sex with whomever I like, presuming they’re similarly inclined. Some of my lovers have pussies, and some of them have cocks. I’m flexible that way.