She is has a secret
That I didn't know
About her
That she likes tantra
Though we are both women
Kissing eachothers curves
I want to taste your sweet
Necture as you had mine
From my flower

Guilt awaiting beyond the threshold of passion,
Too regretful to be engulfed by devouring flames,
Burning with every ounce of blood pumped in ******,
Sensation overwhelming a morally sound reality,
entombing the moment on repeat,
reliving every touch, every secret whispered.
Broken promises gnaw at the spinal cord,
Incapacitating victims with each mouth full of deceit,
Overpowered in puddles of sensuality scattered,
Pain distributed through currents of attraction,
Smoothering the protests of anxiety with free will.
Breathing the scent of venom,
Seductive serpent offering the hungry,
garentees of release muffled by falsehoods,
Providing the fruit of past deprivation,
The sweet necture drips from supple lips,
Woven into the wounds of betrayal,
A secret to be scilenced by the embrace of guilt.

Without thought

with first

breath, I

turn and

yearn for

your touch.


sunday morning

midnight stars

hidden away there

in your eyes,


I pray to

the morning

for you.


sunlight

slowly wakes

and crawls

like a

newborn

baby

across our bedroom

floor.


I can't wait

a moment

longer  to celebrate

this moment

with our first

morning

kiss.


your lips

taste of

honey

and sweet

necture and

lover's wet

memories

from

the night

before.


and this day

still finds

me drunk

in your

passion


and dancing

in  your

princess blue

eyes,


and with

your mouth

open and our

tongues light

and gentle

across and

around and

around

eachother's

desires..

again.


I think.

this must

certainly

be all that

love was

ever meant

to be.