Kishani, while fucking

In those final moments,
When time had already long since ceased to
Make meaning, as my cock rammed in and out,
Sliding like a hound up and down your cunt,
You gasped and heaved, you held the bed rail,
You were receiving with abrupt moans all
The fucking from me you’d want.

You were, when I’d started the line of
Seducing you to your pants, just a
Self-bloated, corrupt, unaware, BMW-driving bitch
In red coloured shoes and manicured nails,
Abandoned by life, disregarded by the man,
And so — to drill you in you brought me home.

We fucked over cheese and wine and once
I poured a claret down your boobs,
Fucking you harder, stoking you with flame,
That you heaved, farted twice as you came.
Lying there in my arms, half spent,
I felt sorry for you, for a moment, for you
Needed me to fuck you to give your hole a meaning.

When we finally broke, you said that
My weight was not man-enough; that my
Cock was of a smaller size, and I read
The need to move on in your tongue, disgust in your eyes.
Your man had made up with you by then. You’d decided
To be loved, and to give love as then.

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