Exploring the Mississippi

I lie in the quiet shadows of the riverbank,
langoring in the loneliness.
I am comforted by the light breeze
stirring the humidity heavy air,
and the gentle lapping of the water
reaching the shore.
But I know the comfort is short lived.
Peace and sleep continue to elude me,
destroyed by her distance -
she seems at times
to be as far
as the Mississippi is long.
It is then that I see
her silhouette
emerging from the trees -
an angel haloed by the moonlight.
As she leans down to kiss my cheek,
I run my fingers through her hair,
feeling its weight and texture.
Without warning
I intertwine my fingers
with her long locks
and pull her in for a passionate embrace.
I release my grip on her hair,
lightly brushing it aside
to expose her swan-like neck
and pale, gracefully curving shoulders,
taking a few moments
to let my fingertips
map out the riverbed of her spine.
Her skin glistens
with a light summer sweat,
shimmering like a thousand distant stars.
As I lift away her shirt
I am struck by the awesome beauty
of her breasts -
perfect globes
taken straight from a Renaissance painting.
She sighs softly
as I make my own painting -
tongue circles around her elongated nipples,
tasting the saltiness of her skin,
catching a fleeting whiff
of her particular perfume.
I feel her pulse quicken
as I slowly move downward,
gently caressing her femininely rounded
stomach and hips
and I am once more reminded
of the beauty
in the contrast of her creamy skin
beneath my sun-darkened hands.
Surprising her again,
I stop my meandering journey downward
and move straight to her delicate feet.
I massage them for a few minutes,
giving her time to relax
and calm back down.
She seems so fragile,
so innocent,
but I know the secrets
to unleashing
the almost violent passion
strongly flowing through her depths.
I trace the outline of her calves,
and hear her sharp intake of breath
as I kiss my way back up her parted thighs,
slipping her skirt up
higher and higher,
Ponce de Leon searching
for the Fountain of Youth.
I hear a moan,
not sure if it is hers or mine,
as I push away
the slightly dampened lace of her panties.
I am immediately overwhelmed
by her sweet scent,
and teeter on the brink of self control,
dizzy with raging desire
at the sight of her unfurling petals -
unrivaled by any budding rose.
Her silken lips part,
and I am drawn to her clitoris,
standing at attention,
a lone sentinel guarding the gates -
ready to welcome me inside,
but only after being given
tokens of my affection.
I am happy to offer the bribe
with my tongue,
and a very soft scrape of teeth.
My tongue is then allowed entrance
to her inner folds,
eliciting a sharp cry of ecstasy,
as I am rewarded
with the warm flood of her nectar.
Her taste is exquisite -
unlike anything created by the most sought after chefs.
It is at this point,
when we are both overcome
with wild passion for each other,
that I awaken
trembling and crying once more
with the heartbreak of her departure.
Mother Mississippi calls to me,
but even she does not have enough water
to wash away the hurt.
And I am haunted
by the scent in my nostrils,
and the intoxicating taste
on my lips.