The senses of love

From the first moment,
the taste of you
is one that makes me crave more;
the sweet, saltiness that lingers on my tongue,
leaving me reluctant to quench my other thirst
lest I wash you away,
keeping your succulence with me
long after

the sound of your delight,
which was evident in every sigh,
gasp,
moan,
every breathless demand to 'fuck me, please' -
turns into the cries of your coming,
and fades into soft, gentle sighs of satisfaction,
'though your voice calling my name
still echoes softly in my head;

and
when I lift my hand
to brush my hair from my face,
the smell of you on my fingers
leaves me reeling afresh,
wanting once again
to wrap myself in your arms,
to bury myself in you,
to inhale the scent of you,

to touch you,
to re-live that moment -
when my fingers explored,
caressed,
pressed into you,
your velvety moistness -
that had me gasping in delight

as I watched you,
breathless at the sight of you
the way your body trembled to my touch
the quivering,
arching,
shuddering satisfaction

that makes me want you all over again.