The art of giving the art of taking

Her sharp intake of breath was a shudder
which sent ripples throughout her body.
"He said WHAT?!" Oh my God, to think
that he would want to do that, to me, for me, with me?!

The sharpness was a pain also:
in her lungs, starved of air for,
though breathed in what she had was taken away by the audacity of the suggestion.

in her breasts which longed to suckle,
to be taken in hand and mouth
to be ravaged by his tongue upon her nipples.

in her ovaries, which longed to be showered by his seed
erupting from his shaft on which she was impaled
deeply penetrated, to the core of her being.

in her pussy, a sweet aching throb
pulsating with the thought that her lips may soon be thrashed
by his tongue as it engaged in his Odyssey,
of which her body is the map, the scene, the source and destination.

in her thighs which felt the void of the body not yet held between,
desiring to be parted like the breakwaters and piers
protecting a safe harbour
yet drawn wide apart to welcome the ship surging into port
and shuddering as he docked deeply nestled home.

The gift would come
the giver would come
and be taken away again like the tide
lapping on the shore
surging back and forth in a motion old as time
surging in and out in a motion as old as human loving.
Being given and being taken away.