Into the Phonebooth

"Shit"

When first light glances through
pulled shades and closed blinds
And peeks inside of your room to find
You asleep,
Hair askew, body rising and
Falling gently
To the rhythm of your life,
It pauses to thoughtfully consider
Cheeks and lips
Eye brows and earlobes...
Taking a picture every morning
To save
And admire.
And all of his friends
Of the beauty he gazes upon in fleeting
Lines of light.

Then he chuckles as with great glee
He passes along the morning joke
You share between the two of you,
As you see him staring
Following, silently,
Into the bathroom to look in the mirror and proclaim
With an amused joy...
"I look like shit"
 
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Birthday selfie. Probably gone by morning.
 
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Would you permit me one kiss
That becomes one lick
Or a nibble
On only one nipple?
Or two hands on two breasts
Not resting, but very active
As they pass across your stomach
And down into your wild parts?
I want to be where your wild things are
And be crowned the King of roaring
And moans
And vibrant leanings.

Could your two thighs
Spread wide? Even wider,
I assume
You'd allow me to taste you until plumes of
Thick, wet moans fill the room?
Or maybe as my head tips your clit,
Would you sit still
Or move with too much kinetic energy released?
I know you're quite a beast,
But I'm a capable monster
Making runs jiggle your body
And shake lose your hesitations.
Could one kiss cause fire
To rain down
Upon the ground around you
As I grind
Your mind with sonnets
And verse sure to push gushes
Of appreciation from your deepest lakes and rivers.
I will flood your banks.
Burst your dams...
With one kiss
That becomes
Much
Much
More.
 
Your lips are teasing
Corner smirks and light giggles
Supple, pulsing, living delights
Welcoming and heated words
Coy designs and pointed truths.
Your lips are a weapon.

Your breasts are trouble.
Imaginations and succulent desires
Sensitive and shiver producing
Wonders of the known world.
Inviting, laughingly out of reach
And a just dessert
For a wanting mouth.

Your thighs, clad in black
Beckoning and closed
Yet wanting to spread and welcome
A wandering head, with wondering words
And sleek, slick tongue,
Or maybe just a vision
Of what could be,
For your thighs
Clad in black
Hold the key to the pirate's treasure.

Mind, clad in armor.
A steel trap released only
Upon careful security scan and
Deliberate distracted deliveries of wit, sarcasm
And sprinkles.
Vanilla covered by chocolate drops of intrigue
And breathless, though private..
Pondering run amock.
 
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Your lips are teasing
Your breasts are trouble
Your thighs, clad in black
Beckoning and closed
Mind, clad in armor.

Very nice. :)
 
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