Description:

She used to straddle me...Scarlet fingernails scraping against the pelt of my chest...Her seductive half smile...And raven hair hanging like limp snakes of a voluptuous medusa...Entering her was easy...Similar to slipping a cold foot into a warm wet sock...She’d laugh...I’d moan...And pull at her clitoris...It would stretch and snap back...Elongated rubber bandish...Her smiles and laughter would melt into expressions of ecstasy...I’d pull her clitoris from between our bare thighs...And stretch it over my abdomen until it reached my mouth...I’d clamp my lips around it and play...At those times...In that abandoned house...Upon that damp mattress and soiled sheets...I was the clitoris trumpeter...And she...She was being blown. Dark, dirty and raw. The poetry of Adam. J. Murray moves desperately through addiction, perversion and elation, ghetto and godhood in a quest for immortality through the written word.