Could it be the air this eve?
The rushing, thrusting, way it moves in and out so recklessly through her trembling thighs?
Could it be goodbyes? Spoken too often, too soon, too fearlessly....
Or could it be her.....knowing that which she knows, explicitly...damnable empaths.
Swollen lips moan as time goes on,
Protesting and protecting each and every revered memory as they build, sinking further into the traps of desires’ handicaps...
Insistent arched backs, finding no solace yet all solace herein...
Persistent, insolent cravings...of the mortal kind.
Soft and sweet the way she lasciviously endures,
A crushing, lusting, journey of the flesh and soul, here and there it goes so helplessly renewed,
Begging for fancies to be released...
So that love can shine through....unbound.
One step, two steps, three steps...bare...
Silken fury on the floor beneath her feet....unable to meet her lovers’ gaze from so far away,
The wind echoes, swishing from her toes to pulsing fingertips,
Swayed gently by a sound, to reach for her nakedness and plunder.
Surrender to the heat?
The way passion forms in a single drop, running down her back as her coherence lapses for awhile...
Beautiful bliss upon the throne of mortal glory, hips rocking, laced fingertips...
Heaven found, unbound, for a time.
But then, back to the real world.....
The Beginning of the World--Constantin Brancusi
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