My lust consumes.
Hands long for your throat,
crave to be wrapped in your hair,
pulling you closer. Close enough
to feel your heat, to smell you.
My lips, Ah my lips.
My lips and tongue implore
for the wet heat of your folds.
I must taste your flesh
before I wither from attrition.
The singularity of ingression,
transcendent of all earthly attachments.
Release. An unfettering of all thought,
leaving only feeling.
A divine conjunction.
And after, the only sounds our breathing.
Still as one, unencumbered by thought.
We rest peacefully in our oasis, sated.