Poetic Succubus

Poetic Succubus

"I'm a writer of rhyme, of poetry thus,
I'm a lyrical, poetic, succubus.
I speak words that make you feel high as a kite,
And make love to your soul in the heat of the night.
Words so internal, endearing, ingenious,
They stimulate the mind, heartrate, and penis.
Words that make you want to cum, never go,
Word that make your creative juices flow.
Succubus, an entity who makes love to men as they sleep,
Maybe tonight, into your bedroom I'll creep,
And in deepest sleep, as your body rests,
My words kiss, and lick, and caress your chest.
From the rapid movement of your eyes,
You feel my words caressing your thighs,
Words cupping your scrotum, and gripping your shaft,
Words drenched in wetness, and the succubus laughs,
Laughs cause you're caught in my hot imagination,
As I poetically sex you to ejaculation,
And as you buck, pulse and throb to my mystical rhythm,
My pen is absorbing the flow of your gism,
Taking it all with the force that you give it.
Was this a dream? Or, did you actually live it?
As your heartrate slows, and your eyes flicker open,
You look around for me, searching, hoping.
Just speak my name on the wings of the wind,
Say, Connie, and maybe I'll cum to you again,
But daylight is dawning. To another time zone I creep,
For a succubus is an entity who makes love to men as they sleep."