#507) You Do It Your Way, I’ll Do It Mine

I turned-on the TV before dawn
to see the Queen's funeral.
Today we're all a little British, I thought.
I saw the crowd dressed in mourning
as morning dawned for my lover and me.
"Would it be wrong?" I asked
as I shed my nightdress and rejoined him in bed.
So as soaring choirs sang,
we started to frolic with some spanky-panky.
Robert got the Scottish tawse,
in keeping with the tone,
and leathered me with its ribbons of pain,
then the cane to give me three bright stripes,
and we were off!
Horns trumpeted as he introduced his engine into me
pistoning my pussy so perfectly.
We like to make it athletic, aerobic, rigorous,
so did it in all sorts of positions.
I love looking him in the eyes as he fucks me,
kissing his mouth, bumping our bellies,
I love my thighs splayed wide
or my heels by his ears.
As verses were recited a half a world away in their funeral
we celebrated our own way,
"Yes, fuck me, lover! Just like that!"
They focused upon death and loss
while we coupled and rejoiced,
expressing life at its fullest,
pleasure at its pinnacle, as he brought me to 
muscle-tensing orgasm
after top-of-my-voice screaming orgasm,
upon tummy-sommersaulting orgasm.
Because we're not creating a new life now,
he flipped me over and we smiled
as he planted his standard in a new place,
where some say it is profane and wrong,
and society says it's forbidden and sinful.
The service ended with bagpipes, he takes me half way to heaven once more,
this time joining me in ecstatic release,
making my bum a Bundt cake
round and sweet and filled in the center with his cream.
Verses were recited in England,
coming across the airwaves on the TV,
as I said, as I always do,
"That was soooo good!"
Tears glistened from eyelashes over there,
while my pubes glistened with jism.
They did their funeral, acknowledged a death, recalled old memories,
while we did it for fun, and life, and renewal, and to create new memories.
If it was wrong, you can't convince me of it,
but you can spank me for it later...

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