The Circus

He thought that he would do her a favour. The delicacy of the night.
Her hairless pudding gaped. Confectionery of the gods.
His mouth spread the entrée. She did not like that at all.
His hands seized her buttocks. To steady the target.

The great articulator. The agile serpent wagged.
Between the crust and the icing. Her brown sugar melted.
Saccharifying his tongue. She did not like that at all.
Thus fudged another rapture. To end this circus act.

Finished his mouth was glazed. He looked pleased but incomplete.
She thought to return the gesture. He worked hard, after all.
Her lips embraced the summit. As tight as she thought he pleased.
With a wave she gesticulated him. But he did not like that at all.

She suckled and smashed her face. Mad at the gristly phallus.
He feigned a sigh of pleasure. His strength creeped down his legs.
She pulled, rode her tongue on the crest. He did not like that at all.
So he sighed and shot limpid. To end this circus act.

Finished, they lay together. Wrapped in blanket and arms.
They imagined they pleased each other. Without pleasing themselves.
Finished but incomplete. For the best was yet to come.
When the cold came with the dawn. And the perfect embrace of lovers.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
January 3, 2014

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