Graphic poem*

It is late as I wait for you
to walk through the door.
I am a temptress,
dressed to impress.
My hair flows
in gentle golden waves,
as I dare to lay here
anticipating his reaction
in all my vulnerable beauty,
My bared porcelain skin
kissed by black lace and bows.

I smile as my eyes meet his,
the spark, too hot to ignore.
I see my ravenous conquest.
Tearing at his clothing,
My fingers dragging over
his skin so warm,
bearing his masculinity
he draws near
aroused by my alluring distraction.

Undeniable his passionate duty.
Explosions begin
provoked by desire
and eagerly exposed.
I want to cry out,
there is no taming his flame.
I am blown away by his divinity.
I beg and I plead,
but he takes his time
devouring every inch
of my femininity.

Rhythmic euphoria
consumes my senses
whilst dancing between linen
he takes control.
We two lovers entwined
in this game of seduction
and a never ending desire
to scream his name.

Lizzie Bevis