I love it
When you hold me
From behind

With your hands caressing
my back, holding
Where it is tiniest

I am thrilled
As you throw me on the bed
And press on me

On the wall
I see your dark shadow
Riding a horse

You move your fingers
Up and down
Rubbing my pear-shaped ***

When you kiss me
On my neck
Your hands squeezing my *******

I love it
I absolutely love it
Scream my exaltations

Caressing my legs open
Lingering my fingers on my thighs
I feel my own wild anticipation
I feel the heat of your eyes
Already tasting my body
But you can't have me yet
I'm tracing the lines
Of my ****** poetry
Down the length of my body
"Harder, Faster"
Written on my thigh
"More please"
Outlined on my neck
"I like to tease"
Traced on my arm
"I wanna be loved"
Covers up my heart
"Just take me now"
Drawn straight down
Ending at my.....

See, my hands do this thing
when I'm nervous
bored
upset.
They tend to play,
to pinch and wiggle,
to rub my clothing together.
I bounce pencils,
I click pens.
And, please,
don't even get me started on
tapping.
Now, these are all bad habits,
carried out, unnoticed, by
restless hands.
But my favorite bad habit
is running my fingers through your hair
or maybe down your arm
or holding your hands.
But they aren't bad habits,
not then.
In those few moments,
my hands are doing
Exactly
what I want them to.

Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.

In darkness I stand,
Each drop and each sound,
The peace of the valley below,
A kiss and a touch,
A whisper and blush,
The rain is my lover and friend.

I dance in the dark,
To a song no one knows,
As my skin is caressed by the rain,
My hips they do sway,
My arms are upraised,
My thanks for the kiss of the rain.

There is no joy,
As complete as mine now,
Out all alone in the rain,
No sound can be heard,
But the ****** of rain,
Here so far from the town.

Each splash of a drop,
A whisper, a touch,
It brings such joy to my soul,
My lover, my friend,
The life giving rain,
The moisture makes love to my skin.

Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.

~The Love That Falls From Above by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014