Discovering

Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?
How I think of you,
lying on the bed,
spread out like a feast for me?

At least once a day I think of you
when I should be working.
When I should be paying attention to not running over the neighborhood children,
a picture of your gloriously naked body sneaks into my thoughts.

You know I want you;
I have not played coy or hard-to-get.
But do you know how much I want you?
Do you understand the passion that pulses through my veins?

I want to run my hands over every inch of you.
To feel the different textures of your flesh;
the inside of your thighs and your buttocks,
your chest and the collumn of your throat.

Lord, I want to sink my teeth into you,
to hear you gasp in shocked delight.
To feel the muscles in your belly quiver as I run my
nails down to your groin.

I think about how you will feel,
silky velvet over steel;
and when I weigh you,
and when I taste you.

How I would love to smooth my palms over your taut buttocks,
squeeze your ass,
kiss the shadowed indent at the base of your spine,
run my tongue up your back.

I can't imagine how you will taste
-though I lick my lips in anticipation-
or how you will smell.
I want to discover all of them.

The scent of the dark curls that nestle your sex;
the spot on your breastbone, just over your heart,
warm and vibrant with life.
The hollow behind your ear, and beneath your jaw.

Your mouth.
Your hot, wet, sweet mouth.
Your delicious mouth.
Your heavenly sinful mouth.

I want to kiss your nipples,
nibble on your shoulder,
run my tongue across your hips,
take you in my mouth and... gasp.

Feel the way you tense around me,
your hand in my hair, holding me close.
Hear your breath panting,
watch your muscles ripple in anticipation.

Wonderful, torturous anticipation.
Will your eyes flash down at me, hot,
or will they shutter, a blue/green slit,
glazing as you approach flash-point.

How I long to hear your breath explode in a shout of purest ecstacy,
calling my name, cursing, gasping.
Grimacing as your mind empties of everything but the feel of me around you, over you,
back arching, flesh quaking, hot and sweat-slickened.

And when I have conquered you,
and you lay, a wasteland of the man you were before,
your breathing a harsh rasp in the sultry air,
heart pounding in disbelief,

I want to slide my feverish body up yours,
rub myself against you like the satisfied cat who has finally gotten the canary,
take your mouth hungrily...
and do it all again.