Your Hips Beneath my Pregnant Hands

34

You gave me, songs for late hours
I hunger after your rippling
Skin, flesh come alive
Your silver back of cold divinity

Your thighs of shattered sensations
Your hips of warlock-tumult
Wine and kisses, led me to this –
Your small breasts and unexpected

Nipples, your sweet moans
For hard days, your last resort
Of petting me, stroking me
Let us wash our limbs with moisture

And make a cringing siesta
Of our tired bones, weary lungs
I’ll give you French names
In bed, unclothed and free at last

In our naked ease, I’ll give you massages
And detach you from reality like a feather
With circling tongues around your
Wet spot, split heavens like dark rain

Feast on your native smells, vivid heart
I’ll tip your golden buttocks an open leaver
And find great engines of burning there
Wanting your wetness over me without end

And season myself in your whirlpool of lust
You gave me, songs for late hours
I’ll give you blazing gardens of desire
And you will squat on me like a passionate princess.

2 thoughts on “Your Hips Beneath my Pregnant Hands

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