The eyes begin to dance,
No more concern for romance.
A slight touch of the hand,
Weakness sets in and you cannot stand.
This passion yearns to be fed,
A tangled mess of naked flesh falls to the bed.
The nails claw and tear,
Hair and sweat are all you wear.
The breathy touch, so tentative,
The answering squeeze
All beams and tiptoes as we trod
“The dream’s come true”
The curtain nearly volunteered
To close itself.
The waves would echo
And we shall be lost in one in one.
We are lost in the field,
the tall flowers tickling my body
as I make my way down to the stream.
My dress flowing with the wind,
made from a curtain of silk
that I bought on my trip to the city.
Tonight the crisp air pierced me into excitement,
making it apparent that when I think of you
my body obeys.