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butch-decatoriaPoems
O Moan. Y a w n. Purr. How I adore our meanderings. Mornings of misfit nomads waking to the sturdy fur of you, pecks, abs, inner thigh unclad body heat... The world outside feels absent, your hardness your breath presently itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock shadow... We breakfast on such sensations satin thousand threads sifting in grips of sheets creating silken dunes of flesh creamy hues soft mounds from our twist tied tethered limbs then opening passages with kisses and humid licks our lips: camelback & cobra songs to Sahara Heatwave where we worship obelisks until slumber has rendered us stardust and sphinx mused and fused - our flesh again in hymns this Sunday morning... Less stealth of night but copious is touch slithering undulations of parched needs for us to swim in the hunger of its seas Since sensing sensual stiffness your shifting your shaft my blood collects to tighten what is mine within When this grabs hold of us like the blinding noon we forgive that it is Sunday mourn that I thirst for you. Such thickets of urges juicy sweet confection / completion's masculine deprivation half grin half flurry, No worry displacing thoughts of infection secure in our relations... Stretching with both my hands behind me gripping with claws of the passionate buttocks raised (waiting for rain) as if to be seen & named by the gods' - creative breath and shame I yearn for your embrace Heaven forgive me for the heaven he gives me... Affirmed as though we were the firmaments sky without permission (or air rights) to fly comely and in our rhythmic trance we become Spartans (with our war cry) Driven Breathing One defeat Shriven as we're falling One choice to leap. Exhale Olympus Fallen pillars' hush. Good morning, Love a taste of how Nirvana feels constellations and the heavenly wheel. Stretching. Eyes open to take in my world. Stretching Behind Reaching for you if just briefly knowing the whole truth...
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Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
One Sunday Morning (repost)
O Moan. Y a w n. Purr. How I adore our meanderings. Mornings of misfit nomads waking to the sturdy fur of you, pecks, abs, inner thigh unclad body heat... The world outside feels absent, your hardness your breath presently itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock shadow... We breakfast on such sensations satin thousand threads sifting in grips of sheets creating silken dunes of flesh creamy hues soft mounds from our twist tied tethered limbs then opening passages with kisses and humid licks our lips: camelback & cobra songs to Sahara Heatwave where we worship obelisks until slumber has rendered us stardust and sphinx mused and fused - our flesh again in hymns this Sunday morning... Less stealth of night but copious is touch slithering undulations of parched needs for us to swim in the hunger of its seas Since sensing sensual stiffness your shifting your shaft my blood collects to tighten what is mine within When this grabs hold of us like the blinding noon we forgive that it is Sunday mourn that I thirst for you. Such thickets of urges juicy sweet confection / completion's masculine deprivation half grin half flurry, No worry displacing thoughts of infection secure in our relations... Stretching with both my hands behind me gripping with claws of the passionate buttocks raised (waiting for rain) as if to be seen & named by the gods' - creative breath and shame I yearn for your embrace Heaven forgive me for the heaven he gives me... Affirmed as though we were the firmaments sky without permission (or air rights) to fly comely and in our rhythmic trance we become Spartans (with our war cry) Driven Breathing One defeat Shriven as we're falling One choice to leap. Exhale Olympus Fallen pillars' hush. Good morning, Love a taste of how Nirvana feels constellations and the heavenly wheel. Stretching. Eyes open to take in my world. Stretching Behind Reaching for you if just briefly knowing the whole truth...
butch-decatoria
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butch-decatoria
47/M
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
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