Well it’s Saturday Night
and I feel alright
because my lover's coming over late
I’ve got a little surprise
that will please his eyes
and put him in a passionate state
Candles are burning
and my wants are yearning
I’m dressed in my finest lace
And I can’t wait to feel
those hands so real
a wandering all over the place
With a bottle of wine
and cherrys divine
and other morsels I can’t say
I’ve got all I need
to watch him beg and plead
till I put a smile all across his face
“Let’s heat the sheets”
Now he’s over
panting like Rover
look at that poor puppy sweat
Not from fear
or because I’m near
but from something he might regret
No prisoners are taken
when my body's aching
I’m the wicked witch of the south
Men always surrender
to my ways of splendor
sharp finger tips and a warm mouth
I’ll do a dance
maybe even prance
till I see his emotions begin to swell
An angel I’m not
but he knows what he’s got
a mixture of heaven and hell
“Let’s heat the sheets”
Now the thrill is on
and he’s partially gone
but I push him to the max
I won’t be slowing
because my oven's glowing
I pause to play him like a sax
Now that my boilers hot
I give him all I’ve got
yes you know his soul’s drained dry
Then he starts to run
from this pleasure and fun
seeing that nasty little twinkle in my eye
Well I drag him back
and deliver a whack
across those cheeks white as a ghost
No one leaves
from this master of thieves
till I’m the one who gets the most
“Let’s heat the sheets”
Yesssssss...
Young lady, I swear ur killing me...I love living alone, but after reading this I think a cold shower might be in order...loved the line about "Rover and making that poor puppy sweat"...u r really BAD...-e-
Well the fountain overflows and the glow of fire coming directly to the sheets, leaves me sweating and swearing for a cold drink. excuse me for I feel weak in the knees, for trying to get to a cold shower before it is to late. Oh well it is to late. I fainted from exhaustion after reading your poem.
Love is universal and not limited to the most perfect among us. In this collection of romantic short stories and poetry, love comes to those who are decidedly imperfect, who possess very real human flaws, scars, and challenges. Awaiting us as we are.
I loved him. At age twelve he touched my heart with his music. At age twenty he captured my heart when our eyes met as he sat on a stage and sang Four months later, he fractured my heart with his refusal to allow us to stay together. At age seventy
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How Get Away From My (No Money$ Parts)Car Problem$
As Reverse Your Brain,i.e. See You Make
People Humans Think------Huh!
Your Friend,TRASK...
Only you know how to write them as hot as this…
Ron
Michael D.
Actually, the Garden of Eden found you first, sans fig leaf...