She downloaded an app.
A sound meter.
Put it on the nightstand.
And said let us see how loud I actually get.
The baseline was conversation at about sixty decibels,
By the time I had her warmed up she was at the level,
Of a vacuum cleaner, seventy-five and climbing,
When I hit the right spot the timing.
Decibel record, she peaked at a hundred and fourteen,
Decibel record, the most obscene,
Number that a pleasure-related sound has ever registered,
Decibel record, she blistered,
The speaker on her phone and cracked the screen protector,
Decibel record, the sound collector.
She hit a hundred and two during foreplay alone,
My tongue between her legs made her groan,
At the volume of a chain saw, and when I slid inside her,
The app registered the cider,
Press of her voice at a hundred and eight, approaching danger,
Decibel record, nothing stranger.
Than a woman who can out-volume a rock concert with her orgasm,
She peaked at a hundred and fourteen, the chasm,
Between her indoor voice and her bedroom voice is forty decibels wide,
She screenshotted the result with pride,
And sent it to her group chat, said beat that if you can,
Decibel record, she is not a quiet woman or a quiet plan.