Wednesday, May 13, 2015

The Incubical Grapist


All the lovely ladies seem to love the taste of the color purple
I but the subtly supple, dreamboat captainship usurper pulling
more than my own weight in pleasure more potent than powder
if you turn up your sound system i make my girl scream louder


i’m grape, i’m the grapist, A rolex handler the grape
grape kool-aid, grape kush, for the papes and vape
I’m a dapper ass slapper with a hat, cane and cape
every day ladies play my member like a well swape

The ladies love to lick, suck, and fuck my peter
It’s in her mouth like she’s a purple people eater
but it’s good that this bitch don’t chew her food
my wood lay lewd in the mouth of the newly nude
mouth massage, sucking it clean like a french maid
flip her upside down, sipping on her cherry kool-aid

Tongue fueling thermal expansion and pleasure acquisition
holding position unleashing professional sexual lingual fission
manipulating the lassie’s spinal fulcrum via the clitoral piston
instilling surfeits of ornate orgasms like the spanish inquisition


derelict jetsam of angles, lascivious and sexually precocious
exchanging the felicity of fertility through friction and osmosis
inseparable unification of two distinct bodies as if by fluid dynamics
cinched by the vice of lust, exchanging arousal like circular mechanics

then I fill her up cause she loves to fuck, i mean her tunnel loves trucks
loves a rough, tough, off the cuff muff lover that fucks like a young buck

giving copious doses of vaginal canal thrombosis by the phallic post of riposte
munificent host relaying canonized carnal instillation of souls like the holy ghost
constant pleasure harmonics resounding with each thrust as waves on the coast
fecund forays of felicity amongst forests of majestic birds that love life the most
nuestros dames, us leaving ethereal dreams as a pleasure ghost and I the host
prophetic ascetic poetic hedonist purveying phallic homiletic aesthetic by the gross
empathetic scientific diagnosis of the gnostic and rustic g-spots as i hold her close
manifesting psychological culmination of overpowering pleasure so ironically morose

she can’t help but utter moans as i elicit profuse pleasure as she calls
usherance of raucous ruckus, both of us bound by the fecund thrall
occult cabal to quench lust to the point it makes heroin feel banal
in this conquest, the room resounding with each uncontrolled squall
feral impulse and instinct tempting me to heed the incubical call above all
she tells me how she and fiends for it, this doll longing just to be my moll
as not to gall her, I palpably inseminate her, flooding past her cervical wall
my body a pitcher of fertility, life-giving benevolence, yet still some appall
To this day it is these words that the devout and dissident alike do scrawl
the sound of natal passage of the perpetuation of indefinite impregnation 
the sound of semen through the portio, my howl in the darkness “Oh Yeah!”
All the lovely ladies seem to love the taste of the color purple
I but the subtly supple, dreamboat captainship usurper pulling
more than my own weight in pleasure more potent than powder
if you turn up your sound system i make my girl scream louder


I’m grape, I’m the grapist, A Rolex handler the grape
grape kool-aid, grape kush, for the papes and vape
I’m a dapper ass slapper with a hat, cane and cape
every day ladies play my member like a well swape

The ladies love to lick, suck, and fuck my peter
It’s in her mouth like she’s a purple people eater
but it’s good that this bitch don’t chew her food
my wood lay lewd in the mouth of the newly nude
mouth massage, sucking it clean like a french maid
flip her upside down, sipping on her cherry Kool-Aid

Tongue fueling thermal expansion and pleasure acquisition
holding position unleashing professional sexual lingual fission
manipulating the lassie’s spinal fulcrum via the clitoral piston
instilling surfeits of ornate orgasms like the Spanish inquisition


derelict jetsam of angles, lascivious and sexually precocious
exchanging the felicity of fertility through friction and osmosis
inseparable unification of two distinct bodies as if by fluid dynamics
cinched by the vice of lust, exchanging arousal like circular mechanics

then I fill her up cause she loves to fuck, i mean her tunnel loves trucks
loves a rough, tough, off the cuff muff lover that fucks like a young buck

giving copious doses of vaginal canal thrombosis by the phallic post of riposte
munificent host relaying canonized carnal instillation of souls like the holy ghost
constant pleasure harmonics resounding with each thrust as waves on the coast
fecund forays of felicity amongst forests of majestic birds that love life the most
nuestros dames, us leaving ethereal dreams as a pleasure ghost and I the host
prophetic ascetic poetic hedonist purveying phallic homiletic aesthetic by the gross
empathetic scientific diagnosis of the gnostic and rustic g-spots as i hold her close
manifesting psychological culmination of overpowering pleasure so ironically morose

she can’t help but utter moans as i elicit profuse pleasure as she calls
usherance of raucous ruckus, both of us bound by the fecund thrall
occult cabal to quench lust to the point it makes heroin feel banal
in this conquest, the room resounding with each uncontrolled squall
feral impulse and instinct tempting me to heed the incubical call above all
she tells me how she and fiends for it, this doll longing just to be my moll
as not to gall her, I palpably inseminate her, flooding past her cervical wall
my body a pitcher of fertility, life-giving benevolence, yet still some appall
To this day it is these words that the devout and dissident alike do scrawl
the sound of natal passage of the perpetuation of indefinite impregnation 
the sound of semen through the portio, my howl in the darkness “Oh Yeah!”

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