Siesta and Storm

Windows gape, a prayer
for air to bless
our bodies, kiss us
free of sweat.  
No touching,
limbs sprawled in steamy
siesta, seeking cool.

I hear him breathe
in the gloom as he listens
to my silence,
slow, studied, preparing something.  
A pool forms in the hollow
at my throat,
my hair prickles,
not from heat but
from his proximity.

Our bodies banded
by blinded light,
he traces a wet line
on my body
from pool to pubis.  
"Kneel, face the mirror.  
I want to see your face."  
We appear,
stacked and serious,
large hands covering
my breasts, his intent nudging
my thigh.  

The same hands press
me down, canine-like he mounts me,
slow and studied, forcing a moan.  
His need forges an iron grip and.
in sudden light,
two tears of sweat shiver
from my nipples,
brief crystals mirrored.
Gone in a thrust.

Separating, satisfied,
I dream of
breezes as he lies
awake listening
to sudden rain.