At the Backseat of Mercedes

The car now smell you, me, us not of some freshner.

The silence here surpassed by your, mine, our moan.

Pull me closer not to your bosom but to your lips.

Release me; your strand grasped tight.

Release me; your aroused breast rest on my thigh.

Release me; let me release ‘ween your teeth.



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2 responses to “At the Backseat of Mercedes”

  1. 👌🏻👌🏻

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Nice.

    Liked by 1 person

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