If Apples Are For Shooting...

So excited, dear God, look at that body
Gun in hand shakes, sliding in the sweat
Hips in light swing, making holes in his
So hungry, this window has me getting off

Teeth catch her lip; I beg him to bite hard
Her moan has my eyes meeting the back of my head
Her sweat has my gun glued on her apple shaped ass
Hand greedy on her breasts; I beg him to squeeze

So angry, teeth grind and tears fall on cheeks
That bitch with creamy thighs, dripping quietly
That bastard with wet lips, kissing her perfection
So wired, trigger pulled halfway, just as ready as me

Head between her thighs; I beg him to stay put
Her body sets off both guns I’m holding, clumsy
Her back falls to the bed, his eyes glassy staring at her
Fingers on neighboring curtains; I beg him not to tell