Stretching out into our bed,
“You’re still here? Thank God,” I said.
A sigh, a groan a sexy poke,
My fingers moving as you woke.
Sunday mornings, they are the best,
Stay in bed – but not to rest,
Exploring you: I’m heading south,
Taking you into my mouth.
A suck, a lick that’s all you need,
My mouth soon filling with your seed.
Another suck, and your cock grew,
A hunger, a desire to mate with you.
Guiding you into my heat,
My hand a sheath around your meat.
Sunday morning, a sexual thirst,
Just so you know, I came first.