Thy Visage Quakes

Thy visage quakes my deepest reaches.
Thy face, thy hair, thy fragrance,
all my being is toward thee drawn.

We kiss, and thy lips are a softness;
thy warm, sweet breath and smooth tongue
an invitation.

O, woman’s breast,
once a nurturing source
now pure delight.

Once suckled for life, now would I, my lips
on thy nipples, only for my pleasure and thine.
My tongue would trace these hills and valleys.

It is a journey of joy,
evinced by thy pleasure
as I wander their many side paths.

At last I purchase thy peaks
and behold these once soft summits
now puckered and drawn plumply up.

Off again on my tongue’s trek,
languidly tracing
the geography of thy belly.

Clear is my goal:
thy sex,
now blossoming in anticipation.

I spy a glistening already there formed
and sense a likewise drop
escape from me.

The touch and taste of thy precious fluid
are a liquor and drunkenly my tongue
searches thy folds for its source.

I delight in this dear place.
Here my thirst is quenched
and my satisfaction satisfies thee.

Then thy swelling bud is afforded the most careful of
tongue-tipped attention, and once again is proved that
these body parts are as much for pleasure as procreation.

Thy breath, once deep and ragged,
is suddenly held,
then explodes with a shriek.

Thy fists in my hair,
pull me close
as thy crisis comes.

In waves it washes thy body.
Like ocean swells, you rise and fall.
And I cling to thee as a man overboard.

And truly, we are like shipwreck survivors
washed up on the shore
emptied by our journey.

copyright 2001 scjones