Beneath the Moonlight

The softest breeze within the night
had kissed her moonlit face,
this woman who had raven hair
and wore but little lace.

Her glowing skin, a champagne shade,
and eyes of deepest black,
went well with her cherubic lips
and dragon-tattooed back.

Ramira, oh Ramira,
ran her palm beneath her waist,
and gentle fingers slick with lust,
she simply had to taste.

And God, how sweet she tasted, too,
enjoyed with quiet moan,
beneath the moonlight of Seville,
the pleasures all her own.

Circling her swollen clit,
and breathing nice and slow
then sliding silky fingers in
to heavens from below.

And she moaned harder, harder still,
no matter who might hear,
Who cares if Devil’s doorbell rings
would make the beast appear?

Thrusting fingers in and out,
and torturing her clit,
her whimpers whipped into the wind,
and lip she gently bit.

She rose and rose, and still she rose,
the warmth of every star,
she gasped for air that left her chest,
and seemed to be so far.

Her fingers steady on her clit,
played skillfully this harp.
She shattered into only bliss.
Her lightning cries were sharp.

She circled and she thrusted
till she'd no more to release,
and it was then, and only then,
Ramira chose to cease.

Through fluttering eyes and quiet sighs,
she rested in her bliss,
beneath the moonlight of Seville,
until the sunlight's kiss.