A Fetish poem by Mikey P, a spoken word poet who has been part of the kink, poly and BDSM community in London since 2013. In his vanilla life he blogs about film, posts more wholesome poetry and used to DJ funky house back in the days of vinyl. Subscribe to his rappy poems on YouTube HERE and follow him on Twitter and Instagram on @mikeyplondon
Embracing My Primal Side
So part of me has always been primal.
But I shy from it each time I spy it.
I guess it’s my way of ensuring survival.
Cos by nature it’s something that’s hard to control.
And I know that once I grin and give in.
It will swamp my resolve, until I all but dissolve.
So no longer do you see me with a calm demeanour.
Cos affection is now a front.
And my inner sadist is about to deceive ya.
Where my beast gets unleashed.
And is now in control as the teacher.
Pretty much my version of a Sith Lord.
Where the dark side is a parachute.
And all you gotta do is pull the ripcord.
Then my cock will be like rock and as hard as a brick sword.
Body strained and muscles so tight you could play me like a sick chord.
A primal sex guitar.
As I pin your arms and you claw my back.
My hands on your throat as your eyes pop and body locks.
Then I floor you with a glorious smack.
Seizing your throat and hair as my throbbing cock penetrates.
Fucking till you go all astral plane like Doctor Strange and your body levitates.
You fight back and want it harder.
So I slam fast and aggressive, bruising our groins.
And for the casual observer, it’s like we’re both losing our minds.
Lost in a dance, this primal trance, communicating in signs.
With frenzied fucking and veins popping blueish green.
We probably seem obscene.
But now I’m indestructible and morally corruptible like Wolverine.
Cos we’re monsters.
Slick with sweat and fucking possessed.
But this ain’t Halloween.
And as we move in various ways in this scary display.
It’s like we’re molded from plasticine.
Trouble is, I can’t maintain this pace.
And all going primal has done, is keep me in this race.
Cos let’s be honest, she’s the true wild one.
An untamed animal.
Valiantly, I try to keep up.
As this connection is valuable.
Hell, it’s tangible.
Cos amidst the frenzied madness and sexual depravity.
We’ve got something of substance here, and consistent as gravity.
And to think otherwise, would be unwise.
It would just be a fallacy.
If you would like to write for Filth email us at firstname.lastname@example.org