I sing the body Erotic

I perceive to be with those I try to like is sometimes rough, to simply stop and be in their company at evening may actually be tough. Yet to be surrounded by your beauty, conversing, curious, simple breathing, flirtatious laughing, kissing your lips, innocently touching your flesh for me is enough.

There is something in staying close as a man to your woman and looking on you, and in the contact with you and sweet aroma of you, that pleases my soul well, most all things can please my soul, but you please my soul well. The curves, the edges, your touch, our touch, our kisses engirth me as I caress you. I will not let you off till you go with me. Truly, I respond to you, awaken you, kiss you, corrupt you, and charge you full with the charge from my soul.

It runs in my limbs, it is curiously in my fingers and hips, It is in my lips, the carriage of my neck, the flex from my waist and strength in my knees, the language of my tongue, my attire does not hide it, maybe cage it, trying to control my fire. My strong sweet quality strikes through my cotton and cloth, you feel it and for you to see me and feel me conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more; the linger to see me, see my back, hold my neck, and ah, caress my side.

The sensual sprawl and fulness of you, the bosom, the legs, and thighs open wide. Oh your head, that smile, those eyes, the folds of your dress, your style, even relaxed as we lay and I continues to caress. I marvel and mix these words at your contour and your gorgeous shape downwards. Your female soothing, my upper-hold and under-hand, your hair rumpled over when darkness teases the eyes and we become one with a kiss; our slow return from the night, the pause, the connection, the promise of comfort together when it's done.

Slowly, we move forward. I listen on your whimpers; your sweet whispers; yes, natural, perfect, varied, my head bent, my tongue steady and heaven sent, your craned neck, exposing these full mother breasts, heaving chest, frantic panting, hips rolling, lips pulling as darkness turns to brilliant stars, welcoming my assault, extolling praise as we rise and ride and abide to the coming.

Such - like true passion - I loosen myself, pass freely up to your breast, sighed heaving, swimmers leaving, you wrestle with a wrestler, you march in line with the time, losing control; no, under control, feeling so full, embrace, tickled lace, feeling my face as we kiss and pause, not feeling it subside as we ride or do we glide, maybe we slide, taste it wet, feel it jet, then just listen, let sweat glisten; this moment, happens never, but together we make it last forever.

But pass along you or touch you, or rest my arm ever so lightly round you or gently kiss your neck for that moment, is a pleasure that does not ask for more delight, I can swim in you as I swim in the sea. I can envelope you and feel you hold me tight.

Your female form, like divine nimbus exhaling off you from head to foot,

You attract me with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by your breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falling aside but myself in you. Books, art, religion, time, the visible waters and even the solid earth, what was expected of heaven or maybe feared of hell, are now consumed, just filaments while ungovernable sensuality plays out of you.

My response, likewise ungovernable as untired hands hold you and embold you. Your claws, your moans, your pleads, the bend of your legs, the delicate fall of your hands are diffused, then clenching sheet, and tasting sweet, mine too are diffused in you, still holding you, still caressing you.

Our ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, our love-flesh swelling still deliciously aching, creating limitless limpid jets of lust, hot and enormous, now the quivering swell of love organs, white-flow and delirious juice, our night of abandon working surely and softly into the morning, undulating into the willing and coming day, deep in the cleave of the clasping and this sweet-fleshed way.

Be not ashamed women, your new privilege encloses the rest, and even the non-final exit of my nest. You are the gates for my body, and you are the gates of my soul. As I see my soul reflected in Nature, like a tree standing through a mist, one with inexpressible completeness, sanity, strength, even beauty in rest. I see your bent head and softened arms folded over the breast, as it was, as it is and as it will be, you are the Female I see.

Oh your body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other women, nor the likes of all the parts of you, I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul,

I believe the smile of you shall stand or fall with my poems, yet it is my poem.

To learn your head, neck, hair, ears, the tympans in those ears, deep eyes, eye-fringes, and eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids, your mouth, dancing tongue, lips, teeth, jaws, and the curve in your jaw-hinges, Your flushed nose, nostrils of rose, as it sweeps into your cheeks, and temples, sliding down to your chin, and your throat, your kissable neck rounding to the tension of the back of your head, and tired shoulders, kissing your back, connecting scalp and bladed shoulders, and the ticklish side-round to the breast, your perfect front, and taught nipples of your chest.

All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of your body, gorgeously female, and all that is womanhood, and I the man that comes to your woman, oh I say these are not the parts and poems of your body only, but of your soul.