99: Buttered Words

Your eyes need not be open for me,
sleep while hands rove over body,
examining each roll and fold and plane of you,
clefts and crevices, hollows of hips,
lips open for a questing finger that lingers for a bit,
tracing that ruby gateway, pauses, travels,
caresses hair away from ear, examines neck and nape,
little massage touches returning to line of jaw,
fine bone triangle that arches back, exposes neck.
all intention of long slow torture/pleasure is lost in the sight, mouth lowers to search from collar bone to ears,
that hollow just past your jaw,
hand slips to nether lips, enters, explores,
implores a pearl to become a sun and when dawn breaks at last.
I can take no more and sink into your day.