Poetry in Smut

Thumps passes through my ear, whispers so only i hear.
A tease for the senses, fierce and senseless.
You zone in leaving me with a grin.
Racing with your fantasy, dragging me in perplexity.
Thoughts thrive to inspire what we could casually desire.
Pensive rush crashes with every thrust.
Sensuality need not to be filth-o-kinky
Fitting wit more that sculptured built.
Challenge of this kind could be the fetish in mind.

2 cents on booty-calls.
kapootz