- Erotic Poetry
- Still His
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Still his to beat. Still his to own.
Still his to fuck: he makes me moan.
Still his to strip. Still his to use.
Still his plaything. Let me amuse
my master, sir: this man who'll feed,
my hopes and dreams with all I need.
Give me dark looks, give me sir's frown,
and I will pout and feel so down
my tears will flow, my black hair's lank:
he'd rather fuck a homeless tramp
and give them change as, after dark.
he'll catch diseases in the park.
Still his to love. Still his to feel
I hope that I have some appeal.
Still his to take when he's not tired
Still his to wake and be admired.
I love his warmth. I love his heat.
He swept my heart right off my feet.
