Temptation etched into your skin,
The path we strayed for our piece of sin.
Hour after hour of wanton lust,
Not because we choose, but because we must.
You’re under my skin, I’m deep into yours.
Me your fantasy, your very own whore.
Take me, ride me, your dildo that bleeds.
Wring my cock dry for that bloom of seed.
And all I’ll ask, promise me one thing alone,
That you are mine, if I’m yours to own.
Life can be measured in inches,
Each inch forced into you.
Each inch slipping out again,
Each inch with which I screw.
Life can be measured in moments,
The moments we create in lust.
The moments that you lose to me,
The moments and hours we fuck.
Life can be measured with blood,
The blood that feeds our hearts,
The blood that engorges my rampant cock,
The blood in the muscles forcing your legs apart.
Life can be measured in so many ways,
So many ways that we get and give what we want,
So many ways to get each other off.
So many ways to drive pleasure’s hunt.