poem ritual smut


the second time I was invited
to bed with you,
beautiful sacred man
I believed was God visiting
to bless my body,

I would have touched your hips,
peeling down the band of your chonies
to know the bony articulating
handholds and memorize them.

I would have sniffed your chest
and pet slower
the brown hair that grows,
worshiped the offering fire
in your vulnerable tummy.

I would have pushed my large tits
onto your nakedness.
you could have sucked my nipples
until I came,
thrashing in your arms–surprise.

I would have kissed the tattoo I feel
most curious about
and blessed your shoulders.

there would have been moments to praise
Mother God
you were safe from violence
for at least that luminous hour.

you could have slipped your fingers
between my cunt lips
and learned
my meaty clit’s wet aliveness.

I would have slowly sucked your dick
then asked if you liked it,
swallowing your semen,
every drop like holy wine.

I don’t care how big it is–
I gladly would have choked
as you pushed down my throat,
and my lower lip
hit your balls over and over.

I would have worshiped your feet
before leaving your bed.

mostly I would have looked
into your eyes and breathed.

we could have built a house
you never lived in,
safe container
for long-term family love
and invited others in for shelter.

your hair was so soft,
my fingers were dancing.

that first time I was just trying it out.
you fucked up everything.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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