Posted in Erotic Poetry, Erotica, Poetry, Sex

Catherine Janes Erotica– Poetry week 2

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Gone

Lack of a whore, he chose me.

A woman am I, so fruitful to conceive as a result.

Too young of a woman,

to be taken into that private place.

In-tack hymen, broken like my heart

and my broach.

His blood now drips down his legs,

Like mine dripped down mine.

I used his own knife,

The one he used to scare me.

Slicing his rod as he slept,

It’s gone now,

his guilty sweat hadn’t even dried yet.

 

 

Copyright 2016 by Catherine Janes.  All rights reserved

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