As she spread her legs,
his mind unfurled,
to new horizons,
a deeper world.

In the openness of her embrace,
he found a place
where desire and thought entwined,
where every touch, every glance,
brought them closer to the edge, beyond the confines.

I crave the touch of her lips,
soft against mine,
then to slowly lick around
her mound, savoring
every curve, every line.

A mouthful of her juices,
rich, warm, and sweet,
it’s the only thing that can calm
the fire within me,
the heat beneath.

Each drop, a taste of heaven,
so pure, so true,
her essence on my tongue,
the only thing
that pulls me through.

In this moment, nothing else exists,
just her taste, her scent, her kiss.
Truthfully, I need her, every part,
to settle my mind, to still my heart.

Her skin, a whisper of satin against my own,
goosebumps rise, a shiver, from fingers to bone.
They travel like stars in a night’s gentle climb,
up her hand,
through her spine,
a dance sublime.

The needs of the flesh that tempt the soul,
Ignite our desires, as the truth unfold,
Vibes vibrating, positive vibes,
Ambition eroded, the truth lies.
says the desire in your eyes.

Lost in a waiting room of inspiration to come; addicted to every
piece of word- a narcotic artist. He feels worthless each time his
pen is pointless; point less into the time it takes to come up with
an attractive opening line- does she even spread happily for him
anymore- does he still have the charms to call up a pretty poem?
Brushing her face against his canvas, his hand strokes are slow,
word by word- craving her attention to fall flat on a sheet of lines;
pausing to see that always pleasing shape of letters, curve by curve

“Please don’t curve me my love” he goes- he implores her again,
and again- soothing her with the confidence of it being a two-sided
experience; desperately trying to stimulate that passion between them
back to life, again. Searching for her sweet nectar of words; but like a
beehive, she’s sometimes defensive. So he decorates the scene with
violets, to distract themselves away from the picture of violence

An attempt to spout free the nectar of literary passions, as writing
the perfect poem is gently picking up a flower- attempting to have
its petals open wide. “So spread open my jubilant flower— we’ll
have any astounding story to tell the whole world tomorrow…

Last night,
When I touched you,
I felt something I yearned for,
But never knew existed.
Tonight, I crave it,
Like a missing piece of my soul.

See the moon in all its glory
Underneath unfolds this story
Milky thighs mane of red
Aroused only word needs to be said
See the wise in devilish eyes
Touch me..feel this demon rise
Tasting lips twisting tongues
Between your legs a river runs
Nature brings out the beast
Adventure when our bodies feast
Tribal drum creates the beat
Sacred ancient ritual complete
Hold my hand enter my mind
Energy increases as we climb
What we become can't be defined
I am yours you are mine...
Unconditional union within an illusion
In each others presence we are the solution
Spells unleashed motion is magic
Collide connect chemistry *******
Transmit love vibes from the static
Tantra poses muscles spastic
More than a dream is our scene
Share with you my primal scream
Words I write to make you swoon
Waxing..Waning like the moon
In your presence hear me croon
From my heart this melodic tune...