The Wet Spot

Remnants of good sex....

Motions capture time I'm like The Rapture when it's mine,
it takes three quarter hours when I'm smashin up a dime,
or nickel piece to liquicy cause that's how hot it gets,
the mattress is the scene of crime and bares a spot that's wet.

I work myself to heavy sweats; that's how it's gotta be,
my tongue and D make women feel as though they gotta pee,
the end result's a soaking guaranteed to dampen sheets,
and comforters it's sumthin sure but now I have to sleep.

I'll lay down in the wet spot like the bed was bonish dry,
it'll go away eventu'lly you see cause only I,
can take the ludest act and flip it til it's poem-form,
The Cunning Linguist knocks out women like he's chloroform.

The last of condensation will expire in the night,
unless I keep it rollin like the tire of a bike,
these words I spit will make me catch the ire of my wife,
to be but it's her wet spot that to me inspires life.

©2013
The Cunning Linguist

Author's Note

After a particularly spirited night of sex, my girlfriend and I got into a heavy debate about who would sleep in the wet spot. This piece is inspired by that conversation we had.