Your fingers trace me well,
No photograph or artist has ever painted such a picture
No man and no woman
Not that it matters
Scent pleasures every crevice,
and lays softly on my skin.
I hope it won't leave.
If only I could contain it,
with you. Here.
All the time.
No breath is ever deep enough.
the quiet only longs
to be interrupted
your lips,
my love,
your ears,
my dear,
your hips,
why return to the terrain?
It pains me not,
to feel,
every bit of you,
while you take
every part of me.
My thoughts, so appropriate.
Because, my love,
They do not exist.
They do not glare,
gossip,
wish,
question motives,
while we are one,
in our Eden,
where your love is fruitful.
I've found you,
in your smile,
your lips,
your laugh.
Hold me, as I show you who you are.
Playing games in our eyes,
and dancing with our hips.
Passion Pain Pleasure