The Baby's Arm Holding An Apple

Sexual innuendo....

You let me in your bassinet each night; it may be charm,
or maybe it's the apple cradled by the baby's arm,
the color is a shiny red cause when you shine me head,
saliva only amplifies the acts inside thee bed.

You make me very difficult; just read between the lines,
the length and width of time is what I need between your thighs,
the voices in my head are yelling loudly; egg me on,
if giving you this baby isn't right then let's be wrong.

The lamps have been extinguished as we move within the dark,
we never need dee-lite cause see the groove is in the heart,
we try to keep it central like the zoo that's in the park,
but nothing counts for sentiency when lube's within the part,

that goes around my baby's arm; I call it wizard sleeve,
it's so intoxicating, alcoholic; is this me?
Damn right I sip your golden nectar from its fleshy glass,
while coupled with the salad freshly tossed from, guess? Ye a*s!

Your sleeve gets saturated from the baby's apple juice,
with us it seems this way is only natural; that's the truth,
it never happens once with us; who knows, it may be charm,
subtracting all the fluids from within my baby's arm.

©2013
The Cunning Linguist

Author's Note

I've always been a big fan of sexual innuendo, talking trashy yet classy. This piece is exactly that.