beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

she comes in

She comes in,

and I enjoy the sight of her.

I imagine how her lipstick

Will feel when I smear it across her cheek

with the ball of my thumb.

 

We play with one another

on many levels

It is tender,

and I shudder to not be crude with it.

When she is about her life

And I mine

The mercurial grace of her intelligence

I do not put her upon

A pedestal

She would step off

At the first opportunity

 

Come in close

For an embrace

I retreat and advance,

Taking her bottom lip

Between my teeth and

Biting down hard enough

To make her sigh.

The strength in my hands

Serves us both and

I touch her like she’s nourishment.

 

Her breath,

Soft and ragged

Makes the hairs on

My neck stand up

I am not needed

And so, to sit there,

Stable as the earth

Beneath

Waiting to be wanted

Again

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