Layer by layer,
a support system,
and safety coverage,
much like
an encouraging armour.
I piled them on,
layer by layer.
Coloured cream,
every inch,
every corner,
explored by the wisp of a soft brush,
caressing and comforting.
Stroke by stroke,
black ink on tapered brushes,
forms a full pair,
and prominent curls that
softly flutters.
Such lovely coyness.
Stroke by stroke,
a staining motion,
softly presses,
while trailing a curved path
with eyes lowered.
Truly,
the cheapest thrill a woman has.
Hands running through,
pulling yet gentle,
of soft brown curls.
A spritz from a glass vial,
neck daintily stretched,
eyes contently shut.
The light fragrance flirts in the air,
a flowery scent,
musky and sweet.
An over-sized pullover,
cotton hides luscious curves,
drawing eyes to every inch of
skin exposed.
A shiver contained,
from the ruffling of the material,
and intense flames behind watching eyes.
A deep intake of air,
eyes meeting through the mirror.
As though gears clicked into place,
an indulgent smile displays.
*"Come here," he said.
