Its not your type of poem

I slipped my legs in between yours hoping you'd get erected,and like I thought you did,and so forth u ejected. 

When your lips pressed against mine, I gripped to the blankets and whined. How my heart pounded and rhythmed to the rhythm of your groaning & sighs.

And if my sign was water I'd nail it, and if yours was fire, you'd bang it. And slowly you were done, leaving your mess of sweet honey. I guess that's what happens when you feed what's hungry. Like a bear in hibernation, just eating and not leaving temptation. 

But just remember that sometimes it grows, like a bear bringing out a cub in the spring air.