My Immoral Compass

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My compass is set.
Fixed at four points.
Commanding the carnal and celestial.
You are my star clock.
Hemp at the ankles, silk at the wrists.

Your face inverted over the edge.
Tethered in divergence yet full of life.
All movement confined to the eyes.
Cryptic in reversal, but wide!, but wild!

Hair hanging like a mermaid’s hair
In a dream of swimming.

My course is set.
Unwavering and spellbound.
To a volcanic haven,
Where I spy a glistening bead.
Is ready to break and streak.

Your mouth gapes ready
To encompass the rapt and artless token
of my desire.
I stop an inch away.
Watch your neck strain
And your nostril flare at the scent.

I force, I will that entry into suspension.
Labouring in lust. Lingering enough
In forced insouciance
To electrify your inner thigh
With a fingertip.
Soon wet, it finds a hooded place
Tiny, proud and thrillingly susceptible
To each unique ridge of my fingerprint.

At length I permit you to admit.
Take the bait.
And know how my discipline
Can be unravelled. How my hips.
Insist.
Undulate.
How I must
Fuck your mouth.
Your pretty mouth.
I am lost.
Love.

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2 Comments
jennica76jennica76over 13 years ago
delicious!

The use of silks reminds me of a Gorean slave girl. Very erotic!!

Syndra LynnSyndra Lynnover 13 years ago
sexy!

I enjjoyed this poem very much.