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.