Bottled Lightning Poem by Charles Hancock

Her fervid embrace on me was tightening
She was nothing short of bottled lightning
A cat toying with her prey

Fine dining at our intimate buffet
Whipped cream and syrup on my parfait
Fishnets stockings, leather and lace

She knows her requisite place
Is being a cowgirl on my face
The look she gives with her bedroom eyes

When I'm between her alabaster thighs
Will end up being my demise
At least I'll die with a smile

As far as my demons, I reconcile
For it is, after all, my lifestyle
And she doesn't find my kinks to be frightening