Dearling, when I am in your arms
There is nothing more important
Than seeing you come undone in me.
I would have your pleasure
Flow over me like a restless river.
I would taste your completion,
Swallow it whole, make it mine undeniably.
I would give you the sweat of my body,
Drawn by the shivering of yours
In the changing light of the dawn that comes
After I begin to map your dark torso
With this small, pale hand, there,
In the darkness I enjoy best.
I would love you,
Fuck you, Rock you, caress you,
Wrap you in velvet as I mark you.
When you are in my arms,
I am flushed and shuddering.
All reticence is forfeit
As you scale the promontories
Of my form, plumb my depths,
Intrepid and fearless in your exploration
Of my terra incognita,
The waypoints of all that I am
Through the tracks of this
When we meet like this
Between shadow and dawn,
At the intersection of dusk and daylight,
We know one another without question.
Sex is but the expression
Of the feasting we know awaits us
Where our very spirits meet and meld
In this primordial dance,
This chase that ends with both of us
Bound in bliss, red with desire,
Marked by each others' indelible palmprints
Where the world will never dare look.
Sweetness, you are my pleasure
Spiced with pain, the crucible where I melt
And lose all that I do not need
To keep all that is purely
Us, fused forever
By this immortal heat,
This scintilla of eternity
Where the sparks that are us
Roar to ravenous flame,
Clash in quicksilver strokes of lightning
And the shining sheets of violent rain,
Lash us with this most transcendent stain.
In the afterglow of soaked sheets
And rumpled pillows
We catch our breaths,
Link our fingers,
Chart the universes caught
In each others' eyes.
What makes this so good
Is not the screaming of nerve endings
Stimulated beyond capacity for control.
Yes, that's off the charts, I never said it wasn't.
But what makes this so good
Is the way we can sink into lassitude,
The boneless satedness nymphs and satyrs claim,
And know we are safe in each other.
At the end of all things,
When even this passion must die
And pass into memory
(Fond as those may be),
The most precious thing of all
Is that I am yours
And you belong to me
In this way that cannot be rent asunder
Or dismissed with a jaded waggle of fingers.
I smell your skin on me.
Perhaps you smell me on you.
My soul will remember this:
You don't come undone like this
For anyone else.
Nor does your soul sing for another.
That I can match, and have, in spades.
Come here, Dearling.
My arms are open for you.
Let's tup and make randy, messy stains.
Soon enough we'll be exhausted again,
Enjoying the destination after this