"... the scent of passion fills my head…
we slide down to the floor."
The autumn chill pervades the air -
so many weeks gone by...
since the first time that I saw your face...
and when you first saw mine.
The movie's played to its end -
and what I notice in your eyes...
is an ache for what we've waited for...
we both drop our disguise.
I feel your breath across my lips -
a shockwave to my core...
the scent of passion fills my head…
we slide down to the floor.
Restraint is but a memory -
our hands are swift and sure,
exploring every touch of skin...
intentions quite impure.
I find myself upon my back -
your stare's a raging fire...
your thighs brush down across my cheeks…
I taste of your desire.
My legs begin shake and stir -
your hair grazing between...
when your hand and mouth take control...
my tongue drives wide and deep.
I tease the waves of swollen sea -
and drink your naked lust...
your hips are rolling in perfect time…
and match my every thrust.
The movement seems to switch a gear -
spurred to an urgency...
our bodies rocking back and forth...
we sense we're almost free.
I savor the spurt of ecstasy...
you splash across my face...
no man's done this to you before...
you cannot stop the quakes.
Your wrist is moving tighter now -
a fever raw and rare...
my burst explodes across your breasts
and up into your hair.
The energy drains from the room...
we surrender to the numb...
a moment captured as we shift...
we seem to meld as one.
My eyes across your lovely face...
a peace devoid of sin...
Your smile is dancing as you say...
'we must do that again.'
Original Copyright © 2008 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Included in the e-book, "Walls of Shadow"
Written May 2008
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.