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A Poem About A Blowjob

[b]The Wooing of John Thomas[/b]

A touch like fire on a night so cold,
fueled with hop filled fervor.
Trailing down to light the pyre
and make modesty a martyr.
For when the crackles of embers trail
into the sky so filled with sighs,
I will lap these flames that rage
to combust me on the inside.

No hunger exists like that this night
to consume down to the bone.
So gluttonous for this mast of flesh
that calls this maw it's home.
A sappy treat, so syrup sweet,
makes one beg master for his supper.
Wincing on both hands and knees
to enjoy his meal, so proper.

In the black ink spring like sky,
gates to Heaven swing wide open.
And from the wafts of pillow clouds,
violins blare a mighty opus.
Bowing quick the taught tuned string,
I play my part as a virtuoso.
Until the music can swell no more,
climaxing with a note Sforzando.

 
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