Timothy

fervor

the starry weaving of charcoal
hair, from her eyes an understated
rush, escaped a glinting groan

on my lips do I still
feel the saline scented
whimsey of her own

we wasted much the noonday
sun, in fevered pitch we
gave into our resonate lust

with torched limbs aroused
my darting flirted tongue I
growled with each thrust

such lovely hips reached out
to catch that heavy heated rush,
arching her back into a throng

laughing in the dark and again with
a doomed pace, we played our parts,
so on and on we yet still embraced

parting on this rain swept eve,
we kissed again, and rested,
sure to see each other more

I shant ever miss, though I
might try, with sinful delight,
that succulent taste I so enjoy