Cyanide’s masculine side

I took a nip of cyanide, not that long ago ..

and found in daily doses, my sighs grew deep and slow ..

I found that without seeking, her tender loving kiss ..

her lips, even speaking, were perfect .. sensuous.

I poured a glass and swirled it, high along the sides ..

and watched it slowly travel downward .. where it’s body abides ..

my eyes embraced her long wet trails .. her curvy slender legs ..

widely placed .. my tongue awaits, on the rim .. and begs. 

 

I poked my nose and breathed her flower, it’s maddening bouquet ..

I pressed my lips without a pause, to the opening.. to weigh ..

is she sweet or is she sour? .. quickly drank or slowly savored?

I tipped the glass, tasted power .. she was daintier, smarter flavored.

 

Yes, I swallowed and I would again, with her at the throttle ..

without her near to shift my gear, I’m seeking now, her bottle.

I want to hoist her upside down and press my tongue inside her..

suck the neck and kiss the tip and carry her to the shower.