Tea Cup


She sits there like my tea cup upon it's saucer.
Upright. Proper.

Smooth white skin decorated with vines
In green and silver.
Hidden. Cloaked.

She sits there like my tea cup, filled with a
Liquid heat needing to be consumed.
Inhaled. Tasted.

She sits there like my tea cup until,
With my grasping hand I tilt her
Mouth towards mine.
A gasp. A savoring.

She sits there like my tea cup waiting,
Waiting for my lips to go deeper,
Lower than her brim.
Greedily. Gently.

I cradle her like my tea cup with one hand holding
A side and the other caressing and kneading,
All to drink the better.
Not bitter. Like honey. Like roses.

When we are emptied of giving, both flushed
With spent passion,
I hold her like my tea cup.

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byMrSilence© 0 comments/ 819 views/ 0 favorites

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