Comfort and Need

Comfort and Need

The leftover rain stretches out over the burnished avenue.
She is almost naked in the la-z-boy; thick strap of hair
drops over her cloudy eyes, black in the darkness.

Hr shoulder, a plum, hides in the eidolon. He rolls the memory
of her warm skin around in his mouth. Her flesh meets his
dry kiss with sweet hush now low moans leaking from the back

of her wet throat. She timidly speaks through her hands,
asking his hips ten thousand questions. He tumbles into her.
She opens her legs like a strong palm or a smile. He melts into

her sun dream center; she moves to swallow him through his
wearied sweatpants. Penetration is impossible, but they defy
physics. A dark stain blooms in the center of his cotton crotch.

Her thin fingers slide the lace gateway to the side, and he wracks
his pants and enters her fully, slowly, the damp moans leak and
sprinkle the air. He drinks them in when he kisses her.

Now her hands are singing, a chorus, guiding his metered song.
He feels her small universe orbit about him with a million sweet
moons, tiny orbits wrapping him in their celestial path.

She turns her breasts into a protest and he meets them, quiets them,
with his tongue. She feels her nipple disappear into him like
candy. The sweet skinny strand of delight runs straight to her

bent tummy. He touches her lowercase letters that curve with
each p or e or o. She has a soft shore of flesh that fades and
reappears as he rushes over her and then races away.

She digs ten red nails into his rear end. The pain spikes him
and sends him into her, almost through her. She endures.
The nosy rain outside presses against the window: voyeur.

There is nothing to see here, but the moist music of sex, bubbling
with each tense and release. He melts into her brown eyes.
She swallows him as he shows his way into her mouth.

Her own desire fills the flavors of her mouth as she feels
his tip touch the waiting moans, the sweet cries that she’s
so desperate to release. He weaves his fingers into the

tangle of her hair. He looks down to see his cock pass
over her swollen brown lips. Her fingers find the familiar
spots of her vagina, and the button, and the singing

singing, singing! The tip of the penis traces the outline
of her mouth, her chin… he writes his invisible love
all over her thoughts. She turns herself and offers

submission. The white moon curves its sallow light
into the room, and he enters her from behind. There
is a tacit conversation and a start… slow… careful.

And like the rain filling the clay flowerpots, he deliberately
fills her, too. She is flushed with excitement & the faces of
all forbidden things. She smiles into the pressure and marries

his patient trespasses to her endless desire for the acid
edge of pain. He is the slow moan of the wind tipping
tree limbs and street lamps; he is a long heart splitting

her in two until she feels herself come undone. She
dials and redials the numbers into her pussy while he
lives inside of her for what seems like forever.

The moon moves again and opens its eternal eye,
staring at the lovers, dumbstruck by their anguish,
their joy. He loses his passion on her dark skin.

She finds her million year song and howls and howls
and comes. They collapse, the creamy love pressed
between them: his swollen comfort and her aching need.