- Erotic Poetry
- I Run
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I'm not so great at poetry, but I guess this counts.
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I run.
I could feel your breath on the back of my neck, the warmth of your body as you loom over me. We are not touching, but my body is quivering with excitement, anticipation, apprehension. The emotions swirl together in my stomach until I cannot tell them apart, but I can feel your intent, your stillness, the calm before the storm.
So I run.
It's not that I don't want what you have to give. It's not that I want you to force me. I'm not topping or bratting. I feel only a spark of fear, which serves to make me run faster, but laugh at the thrill.
So you run.
Your footsteps pound behind me. I can hear the breathing, the low growl in your throat. I can feel your intimidating size, taste my blood in the air, and I'm no longer laughing. I am chased, hunted. I am the prey.
So I run.
You are there. Hands in my hair, on my throat, teeth sinking, clothes ripping, the ground rising quickly. I am caught, subdued, used, hurt, abused, fucked, loved.
So I submit.
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