Incubus

A sliver of silver seeps
between the shadowed edges
of blind and window,
silvering your
round, heaving breasts
as I fondle and
toy with an engorged nipple.

I lay awake in this
silver
glow of night and
watch as
you rustle and twist
in your passion,
as your tormented
body is drawn
to my sliding
hands and probing
fingers.

In the silent, shrouded
house,
you moan and whimper
in your aroused, thin
sleep;
your thighs dream of me,
of my hands and mouth and body,
as your pelvis tilts with
wishes of lust and
wet throbbing hope.

Your eyes rapidly
dance under frail lids,
as you push your wet
dream against me
and I, stiff and inflamed,
enter you and your fantasy.
You moan and expel
a breath in the midst of
undulating blankets as
the aroma of musk
rises.

Just the other side of
sleep,
you franticly jerk and thrash,
quickening your fall
over the precipice
till breath and dreams
expel.

In the warmth
and pause of release,
sleep’s tendrils pull
you deeper,
back to your nether
world of wet repose
and throbbing urgencies.

The silver sliver
of light along the
edge of the blind spills
onto your ripe silver
breasts; I cup and gently
pinch erect nipples,
and my hands whisper
dreams to your thighs
as my fingers probe
promises into you,
as you throb and leak
in another of your
incubus haunted
nights.