Oral Fixations

I'm in the mood to post my bad poetry. *LOL* So here's another one.

Kate’s Diary Entry, April 14, 1873

His mouth is on me, sucking,
Caressing and consuming me—
And I can but lay and stare at the ceiling
And thank God, I’m a woman.
Oh, He gave them easy Orgasms—never failing—
But for His most contrary creation
He gave us Orgasms as complex as our Sex.

Doc knows just where to fondle
And coax and persuade—He always did have a gifted tongue—
His pale gambler hands are sure as he parts my thighs
And memorizes the most intricate part of me.
“Easy,” he whispers, his broad
Hand stroking up my pale stomach to the
Underside of my breast.

His voice is a gravelly vibration against my inner thigh, almost as
Raspy as the stutter of stubble on his jaw.
“Come to me.”
Oh, I’ll come to me, I think as the ceiling swirls in ocean
Waves of red and gray and aquamarine.
Every muscle hums, building, chugging in starts and spurts,
Like one of those great steam trains.

My panty breath whispers along the air, but I have
No words for this, just gaspy, frantic chugs.
Then like a deck of cards being shuffled,
Cut and bent to mix, arched for the bridge—taut—
I shatter, scattering like cards gone awry from the shuffle,
Fluttering skyward and landing upside, downside,
And bent on the table.