Covered in Paint

You choke the shaft of the brush,

wet the tip with what looks like spit

and begin to stroke.

I blush and hush my screams,

from seeing the streaking paint cream,

leaking onto your fists.

Yet you maintain a firm grip and

giggle at how I’m stoked

from your every brushstroke.

You’re talented, creative and reckless

when you allow the paint to spray onto your canvas.

You finger paint with the clumped up droplets and

smile at the masterpiece you accomplished.

While ignoring the paint sprinkled around your eye sockets.

Ice Cream

The cream you drip is sweeter on every lick and

each tooth I sink leaves marks on your surface.

You moisten my lips and send me in bliss

every time my tongue glides over your leaking mess.

A “sweet tooth” is my excuse for pigging-out when

eating-you-out to the last satisfying pout.

I don’t retract from bending over

and eating it from the back,

because I’m a freak who devours the treat

and enjoys to mop-up the waffle’s cavity.

Some say too much of thee is bad for me,

but I’m not getting over you

until I find something new.

ICE CREAM

One Night Cuck?

{D A M N, what’s that seated far at the end of the bar!?}

I’m mangled by bodacious hips, stuck abrupt and tangled by luscious tan skinned lips. Wielding geeky four eyes, freaky white smile and a sneaky touch with luring style. She shot a wink, I blinked and next thing we’re sinking, skinny dipping in her sheets. Wading in her water, trying not to falter, but this [common] king’s thirst has him diving headfirst. Gasping for air at the pull of my hair, drowning in screams as I lustfully swim upstream. Every long stride is strategized to reach the deepest sea and avoid getting choked; as she yokes my throat at every backstroke. Surprised by her gushing geyser signaling her blushing arrival. Both quivering in admiration from quenching our hormonal dehydration. I find it off but I’m not offended, when immediately commanded to leave the premises. Before being dismissed I dress, collect my mess, kiss this miss on the neck and… wait, what!?

Propped up across the bed’s horizon I see her cellscreen’s been facetiming another Verizon! I drop the calm act and retract back asking, “What the ~~f*ck~~ is all that!?” Her cacao brown pigment turned cocaine white, like what the terrorists be shippin’! She starts slipping into an endless stutter then lightly mutters, “Ok, see, I have a boyfriend… and well, it’s just kink…” A weak attempt to justify her stint, that happened without my consent. I’m confused if I should feel resent since, I had a pretty good time until all this… So, I laughingly comment, “The 2000s are almost 20 and, thanks to you, I think we now share a MeToo story.” “You’re overreacting,” she blares in a scare as I continue to perplexedly laugh my way out and down the stairs.

So, food for thought, avoid getting caught in the current’s rough by checking your surroundings before diving into unknown muffs; remember, shmucks don’t have genders.