I make love to my poetry..

I make love to my poetry
in between college ruled symmetry
my mighty lead leads as she mimics me
overcome by my mastery of melodic metaphor play,
she dares not stray
as my tounge lyrically laps at the gentle folds of her lavish literature,
she seductivley sucks on my silent syllables,
desperate to devour my diction..
nibbling at the nectar of her nouns,
while figuratively fingering her phrases,
she sings to me verbal praises...

Cause I make love to my poetry..

I open the folds of her pages
and penetrate with deep thrusts of intense intellect..
instantly inducing an overflow of ideas
persistently pounding her pronouns with precise wordplay..
softly stroking the seams of her synonyms,
while she harmoniously hums the heavenly hymns of my homonyms..
with every stroke of my pen,
the deeper I descend
till she finally begins to shiver within..

Completely astounded by the mental endowment,
she still cant figure out how her lips got around it..
and as my words submerge,
to the depths of her verbs
I start to observe all the love she deserves..
so I give her my all, from first verse to final
and flow with a rythym that gyrates her spinal..
and as one,
we peak,
to complete an act so sweet...
eager to repeat she discretley deletes,
after saving our progress,
im anxious to digress..
and when my pen hits her flesh,
I never know whats next.
and thats the part i love the best..
cause it keeps our love fresh..

so its to you that i confess..

I make LOVE to my poetry..