Friday, September 12, 2008


I cannot help but think of you
and think of that side of your mind, which seems to
extend into every part of your body.
I cannot help but think about the soft touch of your lips,
the pressure of your chest against my skin,
your hands teasing and holding, then becoming more intense
a little edge from your teeth, and the sound
of soft music in the background
interrupted by light moans, and then deeper shivers.
I love to think of how we might
linger and linger, exploring things, hot and wet
hard and soft, hands and tongues,
I can almost smell and taste you
not just the scents you wear, but you.
I would love to empty your mind of everything
but the sensations of us,
nothing but what I am doing to you
what you are doing to me
and what we are doing together,
a kind of free verse, with rhythms, light and strong,
with its own vocabulary of movement and pleasure.
I can almost taste you
imagine the intoxication of you, and I love the idea
that you might lay beside me and imagine how it would feel
how your hands might hold my head
how touch and taste would come together,
softly, delicately, but increasingly intense,
with just enough pressure and accent
learning as we trace in and along the right places
lingering, indulging in each other,
building, building, slowing
then building again, building slowing, lingering, building
pushing to the edge....
lingering there, making you wonder, but then taking all of you
over the edge,
to deep shivers, and maybe release, then back again,
building and lingering and building again, to deeper shivers
and to a more profound release,
then back until we fuse into each other and in one
hands to necks and chests...
then just sharing our breath
the taste of us,
a warm peace, and then hands and lips again,
it is easy to imagine.

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