Next Time

How was I to know?
The curve of your waist,
And then your ass as wide as a snowy field,
I tramp along, my hands gripping the edges of you,
Rubbing my cunt over your boots,
Tall black boots and nothing else.
I press harder and slide,
My bruised pussy strains to hold the leather,
Oh, your ass,
And I smell it, the creases of inside and dank,
The smell of you,
A rough sweating sex of a smell,
I want to sink into you,
Clinging to your waist,
Reaching around for your right nipple,
As I fuck you.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Next Time

  1. fraulinde says:

    love this poem, although i am not really into sm. it is hot!

    cheers,
    fraulinde

    Like

  2. fraulinde says:

    love this poem, it is hot!

    cheers,
    fraulinde

    Like

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