23 January, 2009


If I only could focus on other things...but I think about you all the time.
How you look me up and down, licking your lips,
Wanting you to push them onto my dripping cunt,
shiny with juice, I step tpwards you,
without anything...but a patchwork quilt wrapped loosely around my hips
worn, threadbare, but caressing every fiber of me.

I strain towards you, my nipples pouting,
my breasts growing larger under your gaze.
We are outside, and I drop the covering
hoping the wind will pick up and caress my clit,
as it grows and engorges, yearning for your teeth, your tongue.

I want to moan, but it is almost twilight,
the traffic outside a background drop, do they see me? I hope...
so my index finger dips toward my navel, traveling downward, parting just so
I lay down on the cold brick step, the sensation crowding me,
I lift my legs, over your shoulders, my scent wafting upward.

You bend down...sensations of waterfalls, pressure, dancing, weaving, and then
the suckling sounds you make, I feel the building pressure, the rush,
cumming onto you..I sigh and look up into your eyes, I am renewed...


the sayer said...

I love the way this poem captures that most beautiful of states, magnificent yearning anticipation of touch...

lips to lips.. we are indeed perfect beings.

mysterious said...

Sensual and highly erotic.