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Sep 2017
Shh...
You can taste it, can't you?
The nectar of the forbidden fruit,
the music that dances in your ear.
Crashing on bed,
the sheets ripple as you're lost to the
beat.
Your heart's aflame.
Tendrils of adrenaline begin to spark
and spread through you, from the
fingertips to your bedroom eyes.

Naked,
the silk sheets caresses massage your body.
Strokes like gossamer wings
flutter in you,
around you.
The golden sax becomes a sensual purr,
as you are kissed by the smooth
sounds of sweet murmurs.

Tongues are chisels
that leave you some sheen.
Fingers are brushstrokes,
that combs your chest and
forgets no details
as it traces shapes over
your goose-prickled flesh.
Writhing in the pleasure of
golden smoothness, with
lucid silhouettes of heated
summer layers during wintered nights.

The sax growls through your ears,
and all that is seen are its glittering lips,
the promise of the sweet doom and amour fou...

For
nothing is more
liberating,
nothing is more
enthralling than
the
carnals
thrill of the illicit.

A candied fingers to your lips...
This is kind of a first for me. I never usually write these sorts of poems, but hey! First time for everything. I was listening to some jazz music and man,
there is nothing more **** than the sound of the sax to me! I just let it flow while writing.
Lyn-Purcell
Written by
Lyn-Purcell  23/F/United Kingdom
(23/F/United Kingdom)   
287
   Moonshine Noire
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