Summer Holidays

From what sybaritic island of the sun
Have you just returned
And how many men
Did you satisfy there,

Stuffing their fat cocks
Into your face, your slobbering mouth
Furiously pumping like a piston,
Your hand along the shaft
As they pour into the roof of you
Over your lips, your tongue,

Other times
They shove themselves roughly
Into you from behind
Your hands squeezing the bedrail,
Your face blank.

Sometimes on top of you slowly
They finger your wet vagina
Tongues entwined, your eyes closed,
Then inserting themselves inside
They quicken the pace
And boil every blood vessel
Freeze every capillary
As your scattered hair
Mats on your brow,
Your tangled thoughts merge
Into one of
Nothingness and everything,
Your eyes glazing over,
Your lips, your cheeks
As these assured, wide men possess you.

And I
On your return had to make a feeble
Excuse to see you,
Quivered like a schoolgirl
Unable even to return your smile
Of pity.