ONE
ARTDisclaimer: I don't own them; please don't sue.
Summary:
Buffy's POV poem about, um, an art form. grin I'm so
sorry...
Rating: R. Definitely R.
Pairing: Spike/Buffy,
Angel/Buffy.
Archive: Wherever, just let me know first,
please.
Feedback: Um... yes?
Author's note: I'd fail any breathalyser test at the moment. Just so you know.
WARNING: Poetry. Extremely bad poetry to boot. You have been warned...
We have
those that simply lap -
Nothing to it, mouths attached
Tongue
is flickering,
Their tempos matched
To some obscure
tune
Only they can hear -
While I am bored to tears -
Hey,
I'm dying here!
We have those that press forwards
Teeth
scraping uncomfortably
Against things I'd rather not have scraped
-
A kind of 'brute' mentality
That achieves nothing in my
eyes.
Sure, it makes me lash out -
It makes me dig in my heels
and kick them away
But in no way does it make me shout.
We
have those that have not
Heard of the concept at all -
"What's
that? An illness?" Very funny -
What am I, an undress me
doll?
You want to fuck me,
You gotta please me too
-
Especially if you expect me
To go down on you.
It's
not supposed to be a chore
Or some great hardship -
Some guys
can do it, make it all
Some out-of-my-mind trip.
And no
they don't have to be dead
To have a clever tongue and nimble
fingers -
Sure, Spike does, Angel does,
But, hey, with a little
patience, you, too,
Can learn the art of cunnilingus.
fin