Filled pride
I feel, inspired to peel layers of sexuality and lay vulnerable to you, exposed in such humble need, I shy with greed because I know just how successful and detailed I sprout and distribute my seed for you.
I feel, embarrassed knowing my southern hospitality is crafty persuading you with such a bashful personality to get you relaxed and open… begging to conceive.
Baby trust in the MarQuis, lay haste to my kisses and the sounds of my voice, assure yourself over and over this is not persuasive control, but weakened choice.
I spackle, fantasy to your desires with such precision, and I’ll tell you when I’m on a roll, it’s a secret mission with clear vision, no indiscretions need mention.
Lust cries out to me, begging me to give you more and more of the passion you need. It screams to my sold, baby take control before arms buckle and perspiration lotion fatigued knees.
I am a man of the utmost fictitious impressions… exposed to any person willing to taste a piece of this chocolate cake… it took ma’ moma years to bake the expression you see plastered across my face… and only seconds dry and flake.
Sex with you is just a shell, vast in this abyss of the very love I miss… I objectify reasons why I cry, even though my love is between your thighs. Emptiness fills this pride.
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