She is Like Honey

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She is like honey,

oozing sweetness.

 

A pulsing star

within the vast galaxy of her own body;

ready to fall through the sky,

to dissolve into everything…

 

Knotted with yearning,

waiting for the warmth of his humanness

to unwind her

from the tangle

of herself.

 

She spreads her thighs apart

and arches her back,

hips curved up.

Allows her innermost self to be rocked

within the plush cradle of his mouth,

to be caressed by his patient tongue.

To be licked,

so wet.

 

She is purring now.

Ready to reveal her secrets.

His fingers speak to her first in whispers.

Then more loudly,

build to a crescendo

of sighs,

screams,

cries.

 

She breaks like a storm,

full of tears and windy breaths,

emotions that release

from the clouds of her body

like raindrops,

flooding out of her breasts and hips

as she falls slack against him.

 

Again she is like honey,

oozing sweetness.

Blow Me

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Blow me, mold me, shape me,

into Woman,

poured into the glass of your hands

like rich hot chocolate.

Drink me in.

Eat me for dessert, bring me to your lips,

lick the bowl

of sweetness between my hips.

Cup your hands around my ass,

carefully, delicately,

break me open, hard and wide,

then smooth me

with a caress.

Drape your manhood around the soft curves of my body

for me to hold like a warm blanket

through incandescent winter nights.

I will tell tales in my dreams

for you to finish.

Like glass is formed from grains of sand,

so is a story formed,

from many tiny moments,

all crystallized within the raging heat

of the heart’s workshop.

So blow me, my dear glassblower,

into the shape

of your desire

and I will blow you.

Forager for Love

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Foraging,
I savor wild radish flowers,
cleanly spicy on the tongue;
pineapple bush blossoms;
subtly sweet, like fruit;
sow thistle leaves,
grassy, fibrous, prickly-edged,
bitter.
I long to lose myself in the lush richness
of the forest,
in her many tastes and textures.
To dance to the wildness of her nature symphony, her green plant music, of vines and ferns, of weeds and herbs…
To drink tree sap;
to suck thistle milk
from seeds.

To kiss berries with my lips.

I am one who craves communion.
Always longing to immerse myself
within the beauty
of a different
dream.
To commune with other aspects
of this one creation…

We can share our sorrows and our earned wisdom. Our ancient secrets, that we still hold hidden.
I will love you for who you are.
You will love me for who I am.

So I disappear
into the earthen heart
of the forest.
She embraces me within the latticed canopy of her outstretched branches, holds me in her hands of leaves.
And she whispers to me, in her gentle song, wind rustling through the foliage:
Be yourself.

It Was Like A Taste

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It was like a taste that appeared on my tongue,

the sumptuous taste of sex with you,

unforgettable, inimitable.

 

Suddenly that taste filled my thoughts

and I savored it within my mouth,

my appetite whet

to feast upon you.

To eat you.

 

I was sitting up in bed,

but I lay back into the pillows.

Subtle fabric of desire

covered me like silk,

and I luxuriated in imagining the sensual fibers

of our bodies sown together in tautness,

in delicious pleasure.

 

I could have drowned

in those opulent thoughts

of fucking you.

My nipples became hard like pearls,

between my thighs I was wet like the sea.

I rode the waves of sensation

as they broke over me,

came gasping

to the shore

of my bed.

 

Your dream penetrates me so hard sometimes,

touches me deep inside.

You arouse me so much in those moments

that I will meet you,

trembling,

in the space between ourselves

or wherever you tell me

to come.

Last Encounter, A Poem

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There is a place
in a far away dreamtime
where you and I
make love
on Indian Time.

That is, outside of time entirely.
Ethereally,
in lucid fantasy.

Desires percolate in rich imagery,
become enunciated in language;
we talk dirty to one another,
savoring our
fervid words
in our waiting bodies,
that burn with anticipation…

Then we meet,
in this imaginary place,
this luxurious bedroom
of dreamtime,
rabid with hunger for each other.
Lips kiss artfully, eyes stare each other down,
tongues go wild,
consuming,
devouring
every inch
of one another,
mixing salty skin with saliva,
hard and soft mingling,
becoming wet, messy,
with the juices
of our passion…
Deliciously wet.

In this dreamy realm of sex,
I suck your cock and swallow you whole.
I drink the elixir of your cum
and it fortifies me to fuck you endlessly.
Here you enter me every which way, spit on me, slap me, bite me,
lick gently the hollow of my back,
delicately,
as you penetrate me from behind,
in and out…
Exquisitely.

Here all fantasies are fulfilled and still more emerge,
as we each understand perfectly
the humanity of each other,
intuitively,
sensitively.

And so we twist our bodies every which way
in pleasure,
moan, scream, pant, speak vulgar poetry to one another…
I eat your ass as you do me, doggy style,
I suck, over and over again your cock, wet
from being inside
the tightness of my asshole;
you reach your fingers up into my pussy,
pressing skillfully,
while you fill me, fuck me,
and make me cum,
again and again,
until we both ejaculate all over each other,
savoring the sweetness of our own nectar,
with our tongues
licking, sucking, kissing, teasing,
playfully…

Rhythmically, gracefully…

So hot…

So this is dreamtime,
a fleeting dream, real,
imagined, insubstantial, surreal,
an ephemeral imago
of making love to
to Santiago.

Lore of the Passion for Life

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You were a match
struck upon me.
Within anticipating air we sparked
like flint.

And so I ignited
with the flame of desire,
exquisite anguish
spreading molten hot
between my thighs.

You entered me.
Unlocked me with your key.
Undid me.
Undid the buttons,
undid the strings,
bared me to my panties,
fingered wetness and lace,
opened the pink lips of my labia like a gate,
and came inside me.

You penetrated me.
You took me.
Made me tremble.
You were inside my mouth, inside my pussy, inside my ass,
inside my mind, inside my heart.
I found you inside my void,
an ephemeral imago.
I lay there naked, vulnerable, turned inside out to touch the edges of you,
to feel your skin against mine,
to smell the incense smoke in your hair.

You took advantage of me.
I was ripe like fruit;
lunch for a hungry ghost.
You bit my breasts, pressed the warmth of your tongue against my nipples, teased with your teeth.
We ate each other.
I sucked.
I swallowed.
But like a burning bush,
that burns in the radiance of the divine fire,
I was never consumed.

Delicious
the moment of passion can be.
Mysterious and luminous
the stories of this life shine like many suns
over the darkness
of each heart’s nighttime.
And some are so good
that they become told
and retold,
smoldering in the recounting
like a wood stove warming the house,
and flaring, as their tinder is stoked,
to become lore,
long into the night…
until the fire goes out.