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

{“Ouch, don’t pull so hard”}

Excuse me miss,

but I’m currently a drunken mess.

Dismiss the distress caused by my intoxicated grip.

I’ve taken one too many sips,

so please don’t be jaded at how I’m severely faded.

Your every kiss is sweet like mangoes, picks me off my feet,

when our lips get tangled in a tango.

Our mouths dance, I’m left in a trance,

speechless, only able to communicate with my hands.

Fingertips grazing your seductive hips, I’m lit, smiling at your biting lip.

Excuse me miss, but we must try this again. Sober.

So, I’ll wait for that text to ring, asking to meet thee over by the shaded swing.