Coming Together

Two pairs of hands.
     One black,
          One brown.
     They wander, lazy, over my skin.
Fingers.
     So many fingers.
          Fingers that trace my every angle.
               Every curve.
          Every bump.
     Every dip.
Red.
     A rosy blush spreads across my cheeks.
          A flush that flows down.
                    Down.
               Down my neck.
                    My chest.
                         My belly.
          Across my thighs.
               Down to my pretty painted toes.
Red, like the spectral fires that have begun to burn through my body.
Their breath.
     Fanning the flames.
          Sucking the very air from my lungs.
     Teasing.
Hands.
     Hands that lift me.
          Move me.
               Pull me.
                    Push me.
          Wanting me.
               Hands that are my own.
Feel my body.
     Learn my ways.
Teach me yours.
Bodies.
     Bodies as play things.
          Bodies as one.
Selfish needs coveted by your other selves.
     Needs expressed.
          Needs fulfilled.
               Needs secreted away.
Let me be your secret.
     Let us.
          Show me how.
Passion.
     Overpowering.
          A cluttered mania.
     Tangled.
          Lusting.
               Fire all around.
                    Engulfing senses.
                         Melting many into one.
Thrusting.
     Clawing.
          Calls of pleasure.
               Moans of welcomed pain.
          Craving.
               Wanting.                    
     Climax.
          Climaxes.
     Gale force winds, extinguishing the flames.
The slow, sweet conversion of energy.
     Reformation of the independent.
          A gathering together of the senses.
     Back to us.
          Back to me.
Breathing.
     Together.
          Centering.
     Deeper.
          Slower.
               Steady.
                    Sonorous.
          Dreaming.
     Together.
As one.