Taste of You

I long for your taste,
for you to nestle on my tongue,
to draw you into my mouth,
to savor and swirl that opening bud.

I long for the rhythm
of your breathing
to falter, then quicken,
for you to tremble
and leak with anticipation.

To have your hands
grasping your own swelling breasts,
kneading, pulling, pinching
red swollen nipples.

I stroke you and with questing tongue
pry you open, caress
and fondle lips and folds,
as you melt and ooze
into my gaping mouth.

Hips straining down,
rhythmically gyrate with
every swish of my tongue.
Your lips glaze and part and swell.

I take long firm
strokes,
savoring each nuance as
you heave and twist
and twitch and quiver.

Your body tightens,
grows rigid
and your clenching thighs
capture me, lock me into
your ecstatic frenzy.

Your breath grows short and rapid,
you gulp
as I twirl that succulent
rosebud,
and draw you between
my longing lips.

Your body tenses, grows stiff,
I dance my tongue along
every crease and fold,
urgently lapping,
as you twist and arch.

My finger enters you
and sounds sharp and short
escape drawn lips,
as your fingers pinch and pull
nipples firmer and harder.

Hips push down wantonly,
thighs clutch tighter
and my tongue pirouettes to that
deep core of you,
right through to your center.

A sudden burst of air
escapes your lungs,
you thrash and shout and
gasp,
as you roll over that
peak and down to
the quiet rhythmic twitching
and spasmodic clenching
that my tongue relishes.

I taste your drooling bliss
and barely touch that
tender throbbing joy,
as you clasp
me to you and drift
into a satiated slumber.