i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
richochet,
without
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
rampant,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.
we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
richochet,
without
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
rampant,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.
we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....
Request permission to use this poem