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Click hereLove is unbuttoning, knickers and shirts tossed across a room.
All the rest is foreplay.
Her midriff coming up bare as waves crashing, an afternoon
“and love's unbuttoning,” he whispers, skirt's tossed, corner of a room.
Sun, wind, teeth-to-tongue, whiskers to nipple: “there!" she cries. Soon
the fabled "Ribgasm," is it real? Bang, Aorta-to-pelvic throb-and-spray
to sorta urge an unbuttoning surf, waves crossing a room
with the sopping panties, jeans and vest, all foreplay.