With the fresh breath of passion, you bless my skin.
Lips like embers glowing, moving,
to places I don't want anyone to see.
Fingernails leave trails down our backs
with the purpose of drawing honey blood
to the surface to mix with the sweat.
Is it me that makes those eyes come alive?
Whisper a secret, in my ear, what you want of me.
Tease so much it aches in my bones;
trace burning masterpiece bruises.
You meet my melody with your own reserved harmony
that I love to feel on my neck and tendons.
We are sultry savages in the face of lust.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 1:51 AM UTC
With the fresh breath of passion, you bless my skin.
Lips like embers glowing, moving,
to places I don't want anyone to see.
Fingernails leave trails down our backs
with the purpose of drawing honey blood
to the surface to mix with the sweat.
Is it me that makes those eyes come alive?
Whisper a secret, in my ear, what you want of me.
Tease so much it aches in my bones;
trace burning masterpiece bruises.
You meet my melody with your own reserved harmony
that I love to feel on my neck and tendons.
We are sultry savages in the face of lust.
A poem I dedicate to my love.
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