Erotic poetry

Open sex letter comes stimulation for the body and mind.
Come onto my eroticism of art.
The art that lays you bare like wet paint.
You play with round sized nipples like a sapphire.
You poke your lips up as a shooting star like gimme some sugar.
Ring a ding a ding that noise on your stereo.
Your tongue twister plays with caramel words around and around foreplay.
Bring out the freak in you.
Don't be shy it's only poetry, we're experimenting.
Let's experiment with adjectives that describe you freaky.
It's alright to do a threesome or a foursome in a large living room apartment.
The pleasures are all mine, ringing dance tunes entwine with Dru Hill How Deep Is Your Love, Jodeci I Wanna Freak You, R-Kelly Your Body's Calling, calling for me.
It's exotic, the range is hypnotic.

So hit me with that erotic poetry shit right now.
Take it to another level like Blackstreet on the open mic.
With you until your pussy's stinging like an archery through your heart.
Empty as the void needs filling of an ideal man.
Lover perhaps next door from you.
Who's caressing milk like breasts pushing upwards to my nose.
I smell your chest as perfume cherry, the fruit of essence tastes like rhymes on water.
I've got lyrics for days, that's why I fuck this poem.
Bust a nut all over this poem till it comes with a million verses, sprayed like African Lynx.
I imagined being Lex Steele, expressing the art of porn.
All women of colour like ice cream was the next vehicle.
Drive your mind crazy when it fucks with your head.
Shall we create our letters to Penthouse instead?
You know...go in secret voices, write letters disguising your voice as the messenger.
Hoping you'd be the secretary behind the desk, the executive by the panel, or the manager who can manage my fantasies on the table.
Manage whipped cream licked up and down from my chest.
Honey drippings on your legs, while you tilt backwards I'm devouring that brown sugar craved on top of you.

Erotic poetry is a Mars Bar on space, a car's epic to vroom to steamy action in a shower.
My pen is a shovel, so I wanna dig deep inside of you.
Feel the urges collage ripped magazines laid out as missing photos.
Missing the fact I wanna date your intensity, missing the fact I wanna date your personification.
Turn your hands to flying paper planes, sky your fantasies around the architectures.
I'll climb to your top notch and come off with a hazel nut crotch.
Just remember the art of erotica has just begun.
It was the privileged our chemistry was like Kama Sutra.
Split you in half like a banana split.
My tongue is the spoon and your strawberries have muted.
You wanted to be fucked.
Fucked like never before, fingers clinging, moans like uuuuhhhh art was born.
I've painted the art of Gianna Michaels.
Body naked as the cupids shooting arrows at lonesome hearts.
Hearts only connect emotional beings we collide as the scissors cutting Kodac photos.
On the lousy floor, your hand between shaded legs.
It was a girl I had a crush on.
I'd do a poem on her.
Wrote the Victoria's Secret thong on the side.
Knowing the panties are wet.
Lick my lips like LL Cool J thinking this is it.
This is it to paint myself on your nakedness bold and round.
Seductive and animalistic, dirty and freaky, naughty and mischief, nice and hard, excited and wet.
Oh yeah let the waterworks begin.
While I turn on the sprinklers.
And shower you with cum.