As his icy hands touched me
I felt a surge of warmth
I carressed him with my knuckles
I threw him down and leaped upon him
his hands were a blur as they explored
all of my vulnerable parts
I matched him stroke for stroke
as my teeth grazed his shoulder
and my feet clawed at his ribcage
he went flacid underneath my constant thrusts
I left him in a bloody pool
in this hazy alley...








lesson one:
"Don't Pick Fights With Football Playing Musicians
Who Write Poetry"

12/03/2003

Author's Note: Thanks to Trisha De Gracia for this topic...a challenge to say the least...

Posted on 12/03/2003
Copyright © 2026 J. P. Davies