Bedroom poet pt2

They say a poem is never finished … i believe this to be true.
Bedroom poet pt2

I love it when our sex causes you to become a poet
Inspires you to write a poem of lust on my back
Finger nails etch out words only expressed on vowel sounds
How you communicate raw eloquence
Engrave desire between my shoulder blades
Write the musical score of the melody my hardness plays deep inside you
Inscribe the pleasure our poetic intercourse
Set free your creativity on the paper of my back
Scribe me on the back of membrane
So that I can memorise your prose
Craft your master piece
Draft lines of wetness spasms
Edit your words of emotions
Rewrite them with fevered lyrical passion
Your finger nails become your pen
And you handwrite your sonnet of delightful shudders
My muscles are the manuscript on which you write
Create images with finger tip words
Sign it with a deeper than skin orgasm signature
I love it when you become my bedroom poet