Lust?

A mistress to a number
A phrase so strange to hear
No coy misunderstandings
No coarse attempts to leer.

Perhaps the gentle stroking
Of your toes against my groin
Or the shock of my tongue thrusting
Was the minting of our coin.

The sunshine train to London,
My hand high upon your thigh
Later standing in the passage
Your buttons slowly undermined.

Your eyes closed in contemplation
Sensations deep effect
Anticipated rising
Obscured behind the nets.

You allow my easy movement
My hands upon your breasts
Our thoughts entwined embracing,
Yet lips pursed, fighting bliss.

The first was so significant
A first of such esprit
A long, rousing tale of rubber worn
And danger facing we.

A wait of such intensity as
We ploughed our early furrow
The puppy frolicked on the lawn
Again we waited, perhaps tomorrow.

You asked the sun to warm you
Your nightshirt held up high
I watched at first unnoticed
Then caught, with laughter and surprise.

The second course a serving
To be so much enjoyed
Delayed then massaged, flirting
Innocence outmatched by Freud.

Lathered in the shower
Pressed against your bed
Moving down to kiss you
I thrust, you bang your head

Tender repetitions
Teasing lips so sweet
And bursting forth beneath me
Our essence spent, replete.

Your words against my forehead
Your tongue deep in my ear
I whisper to your hairline,
You come, sensations, clear.

And later quiet buzzing
And a race against the clock
Simple English pleasures
Embracing quim and cock

Words much more than actions
Characterise our play
You’re challenged by your faces
I care less for their dismay.

Our lust may linger some time
The visions will not fade
I wait. We wait? I hope so
My living, loving maid.