Moon Tunes

Like ripples in a pond, spreading out wide. Moon tunes of the tide washing over the silver beach at night. Waves that make me think of other kinds of waves that make me think of you.

Mmm, I have been thinking of your waves, baby, I have been thinking of your waves and the cliffs of your hips when you lay on your side.

My hands are the wind and the whisper of the sand over the dunes of your body. The sound is very similar if you listen for it.

Yes, I am dreaming of you and my eyes are moonlight on your body as I view you, your naked side. I want to moor myself and my little boat beneath your cliffs for shelter, amid your clefts and crevasses and secret moon caves.

I have been thinking of your waves, and how to sail into that delightful little grotto, wanting to be an ardent learner of your waves and emanations and rock formations the way a sailor studies the coast of the sea. My anchor eagerly awaits you.

I have been thinking about your waves and trying to figure out how to whip them into a whirlpool yet again.

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Oh yes, I am listening for your winds and whispers.

Your hand touches my hip, sliding over the rise and fall of the waves of my body, stopping just before the tide hit the shore.

The liquid movements of my body are in perfect harmony with the ebb and flow of your hand gliding effortlessly over the peaks and valleys, barely touching my hot skin, reminding me of the moon's pull on the ocean.

The short layer of downy hair covering my entire frame is standing up, each follicle following your fingers. Your hands are making an excited path along my back, the chill bumps spreading out from where your fingers touch me like waves behind a boat.

My heart is beating so loudly, like a ship engine slicing through the sea.

Your soft fingers are stroking me, from my curled toes to my submissive knees, swimming along my twitching thigh and sailing across my stormy abyss, over the butterfly-filled stomach to the engorged clefts of my chest, over my moaning throat stopping in the wavy mass of dark hair.

Your hand clenches the heavy tresses at the back of my neck while your other hand begins another journey downward toward the eye of the storm.

That eye will wink at you if you would just allow one touch, one brush of your light wind against the throbbing, aching hurricane.

As I moan into the wind, I open my eyes and look into the moonlight of your face. You are staring at me. Staring at me with lust and pouring your light over my swimming body.

I feel as if I will scream into the night, desperately desiring you to sail into my waves, to feel the rush of moisture from me, like the flicks of seawater a captain feels on his weather-hardened face while standing alone on his deck looking for his long lost mermaid.

My eyes also see your buoy, always present, bobbing in my stormy seas, the head always above water in order to guide the way. I reach for your buoy in order to channel my body where it wants to go, so that it never gets lost.

I feel my hair fanning out behind me as I swim underwater towards it, reaching. I finally feel your buoy in front of me, and I open up my abyss to allow entry.

You plunge into me and my churning whirlpool begins to pull you under the water with me, only letting go after the storm has passed.