I am a museum.
There flows under me a raving light
down the ravine,
brave bunny.

My palette shifts.
It has rotated
on Nature’s turntable
with Time-
turning and pausing,
perfusing and dotting
other canvases.
However grateful
but irrelevant,
with its bliss.

Finally this most potent elixir
comes alive,
aroused
by the portrait of
you kneeling over my shrine,
you straddling
these long thick legs of mine.

I think not about vulnerability.
for I am alone with one to love,
you and erotic instinct.

This is not surrender,
but a summons
for your pleasuring of me.

With me supine
and you on your knees,
you purr and sigh,
tower and breathe;
as I coo in the cool caresses
of your wet lips on my knees.

Into my thighs ribcage belly hips,
the invasion of your exquisite hands
scalds rays of pomegranate red heat
through my porous sands.

Like white coals awaiting a flame,
my soft flat stomach arches
into your teasing game.

In hot hands I feel your desire
indelibly soft, traveling
up thighs to hip bones,
up waist to rib bones.

Sliding down muscles of shoulders
across mounds of breasts,
pulling tight over hard nipples-
you know what makes me moan
and create a lava-like glow and flow
of bubbling red tides
beneath radiating flesh.

Your limbs comprehend
my body art
like no others dared-
petting my need and filling my desire
with the higher laws of gods and sex.
Reaching deep into art and marriage,
conjuring up lucid effects.

Flavors alchemize
infusing flesh with new life.
The brightest colors
ever tasted-
not just the reds, yellows, and blues
of tertiary spectrum,
but pomegranate, sapphire, opal, and gold,
vanilla, marigold, night, and emerald.
Urging me to paint your every inch
with their bold wetness.

Licking, kneading, scurrying, haunting-
your arms become wet azure soil,
your hands, my onyx black sculptors.

Your chest glows with marigold
as pools of pomegranate sweat
evaporate off slick concaves
and taunted, fertile breasts.

Your taut vibrating skin
soaks my brilliant colors
into its dark soil,
coalesces with the primitive
to recombine with my sweaty
disavowal of control.

When I can no longer continue
consuming you with my eyes
as I love to see.
Too caught up in the breath
and feeling you feeling me.

I will seizure with love,
sharing my everything.
For you to drink up
into your pineal spring.

You stay locked in
to me
until the waves pass.
Your riveted attention
rescuing me from celibacy.

Imagine how you please me
and I worship you,
how we make love.
Yes, in ten different ways.
We’ve only just begun.

 

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