Linguistics (erotic poem)

What happens when he devours you like an artist?
Like his tongue was make to make you a dripping wet masterpiece...
This is how it should feel.

Linguistics

by Shifuplay, 2025


He eats me in cursive,
and I swear,
each trembling syllable of pleasure
is penned in permanent ink,
written deep,
where no one else can read it
but him.

His tongue along the baseline
loops letters over and over,
dipping vowels into the slick of me,
accent marks pressed to every gasp.

He scripts me open…
long strokes, ascending,
paragraphs of patience,
ellipsis of breath… right before I break.
His pressure variation is perfected:
legible, deliberate, controlled,
rendering a monologue
that many will attempt to plagiarize… and fail.

My hips become run-on sentences,
spilling past the margins,
grammar undone, syntax swallowed,
every rule bent until it moans.
He commas me, pauses, then devours me,
turning my tremble into italics.

He flips me, edits me,
redrafts my ache with slow precision,
mouth full of metaphors and honeyed intent.
His slants? Intentional. Devastating.

By the time he signs his name
at the bottom of my page,
I’m nothing but spilled ink and afterglow,
a wet signature of yes,
curling and resting
into his smile.
P e r i o d.