The Garden of Us

We have our own world

in which we play together.

 

Only we two

hold keys

to enter our sacred realm,

this lavish fertile dreamscape,

replete with its secret language

of adornment and ornamentation.

 

We are the caretakers of it,

trimming and pruning, planting and seeding,

watering the rich garden of desire

that sits in the meeting place

between our two dreams.

 

And no one will ever know you

in the singular way I do.

 

How I hold you in my arms

and my hands encircle the small of your back,

caressing the edges of the taut fishbone of your spine

that curves slimly down

to your boyish little ass.

How my fingers tickle the back of your ribs,

squeeze playfully the tender flesh of your butt

through your jeans.

 

The way I traverse the hard terrain of your body with my hungry mouth.

My lips on your cheek, on your neck,

exploring the well of your collarbone,

my teeth delicately biting your nipple,

my tongue dipping into the indent of your belly button,

then licking downwards, wetly,

opening wide

to bring your hard cock

all the way in,

to extravagantly suck.

 

All the little games and pleasures that we have ritualized.

 

The abundant treasures we have harvested.

 

It is just between us my dear.