Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
2008-07-19 07:33:42 (UTC)

Her

those long slender lips curling
around my own, wrapping themselves
forming that perfect oval, kissing
so hard, breathlessly awakening
that scored brine beneath the
coral festooned layer of skin
I call my beating, blistered heart

she giggles relentlessly as I peer
deep into her eyes, whispering those
sultry dulcet tonal inflections of
poetry, bouncing around my head in
a cocophany of piroetting jigsaws
crumbling down that indiscriminate
layer of lust I gorge upon so often

it's her arms, those long slender,
silk smoothed arms, delicate fingers
with tapered nails pulling down along
my forearm, scratching, gently yet
with inflamed passion, that so sets
me upon a gilded throne of passion
I cannot rescind the already foisted
invitation to lather her in kisses,
nor particularly willing, nor inclined

that small fur covered hump thrusted
with her hips outwards so invitingly
calling out with every exhale, every
sinew, every spasm of her heaving
chest, the pruned hedge revealing a
particularly succulent dish, tongue
joltingly exploitive, who could want,
or even deny themselves, to that
wanton thrusting of fingers, and
tantalzingly lip strewn caresses

I wonder who could eject themselves,
relinquish control, push away from
her, run away from her, walk away
not I, not today, and not tomorrow.