Pleasure Poem by Tentative Poet

The sounds you make, my darling, each time we get our kicks,
Shall make our neighbors envious, should they get to hear them.
Your screams and cries of pleasure, the way your sweet voice pricks
Straight into my ear canal and trembles my tympanum.

How you love to thrash around, and wiggle that behind,
I love how you look so serious, and how you grip so tight.
The room would get right steamy, and I'm just glad you're mine,
Cause I like how your wet hair clings, when we really get to fight.

I know you like to dominate, but sometimes please let me win,
So I can hold my head up high, when I tell my friends,
That more often than not I am on top, and I'll say it with a grin,
And then declare my being on bottom, will never be a trend.

So, darling, clip on your Wii remote, and let us get to it,
This time I know I'm gonna win, so don't you throw a fit.