beauty, love, lust, poetry, women

Walk To The Volcano

Your strong thighs

Ache as you walk

Up the hill,

Dirt between your toes,

Warm from the heat

Rising through the rock,

A courageous excitement,

Anticipation makes you

Sinuous and playful,

You hear him rumble

As you approach,

Because on the level where you remain,

Child like with delight,

You wonder if he comes to you,

Or you go to him,

Perhaps he has always been there,

But you walk up to him,

Feel his rumble through the soles of

Your feet,

It stops between your thighs,

Where you are wet,

The part of you given to him,

Hot and cruel,

Serous and tautological

Gentle as surgery,

As the smoke surges towards you,

His heated kiss,

Liquid and insistent,

Calls as you reach his mouth,

The rumble,

Reaches beneath your clothes,

The brush of air, circling

Your spanish hips,

Lean into his fire,

He will only burn you

As deep a mark you wish

Him to leave,

On your skin,

Dive into the molten centre

Of his will

You awaken him,

Make him erupt,

He flows and you burn

With release

Awake and roaring his molten

Joy into the sky



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