The ChorusThe ChorusEmbracing his swollen cock.Into her mouth,gagging to almost throwing-up.Twisting the blowjob into her asan impalement of full body experiences.To inhale the sweet soapy scentof his balls and pubic hair,the pungent odor of his ass.He had pleaded like a small boy for herto fuck him and whenshe pulled out the small blue dildoit osmaniye escort had shit on it.These are his fluid parts;his cum, his piss, his salivahis un-cried tears, the words that tumble like kissesfrom his lips.his sadnessas it rolls in his soft bellylike a tumble weed,aimless and unexpressed.He gazes düzce escort at her through eyesthat reflect a thousand feelingwords at once,a prism casting rainbows acrossa complex formula that is his map of understanding.She uses speculation as a speculum to dissect the malignant tumors that are fat with his izmit escort secretions.She is his sounding boardhis fucking boardhis whore board. (How many times he would lean heragainst a fence. She, an audience of one.amidst a thousand smiling faces.)Smoking weed,listening to his music.Knowing the fingers, which now caressed the bass,had only minutes before played her clitjust as skillfully.His music comes from Her lipsin moans and gasps.On and on, he strums untilShe begs for the hard hitof penetration to punctuate the chorus of his song.She was the chorus of his song.Reappearing between stanzasuntil everyone could sing her.