a daydream recorded long ago, at work . . . ;)
Behind my eyes, I see you,
Lift your hair from your neck,
Press my lips to the smoothness of your flesh,
Tease with my teeth along your shoulder,
And return, to travel along your spine.
I feel your quiet tension,
Not wanting to do anything lest I stop,
And knowing that nothing short of your own request
Would halt my exploration.
My heart races as I feel your heat rise,
And I thrill to the small quiet moan,
As you lean into me,
Your mind racing ahead of what is, after all,
Only teasing kisses.
I pull you closer, my arm encircling your waist,
Tracing your lines outside the fabric of your shirt,
Nearer, and nearer still, and yet not quite . . .
Your sigh inflames me, and I feel my spirit rise
On the fiery winds of your desire,
Inciting, pulling me into a place of passion
Beyond anything mere physical description could suggest.
Something deep in my soul longs for you,
For your taste upon my lips,
To be plummeted ahead into the warm moist paradise
That awaits between your thighs.
And yet, withholding, I give no sign
(Beyond the powerful energies pulsing through my being)
That you have affected me so.
Instead, ever so slowly, I slip my hand inside your shirt,
Teasing still, featherlight fingers one layer nearer your flesh,
Brushing over the tightening fullness I sense there,
Pressing, rolling, savoring,
Every minute its own tiny ecstasy,
Every touch its own miracle,
Its own marveling in your body, in your spirit,
In the living breathing wanting *now* of you.
My lips against your skin are both reveling in satisfaction,
And longing, craving more, dreaming fond new memories
Of your taste, the sensation of your flesh.
Finally, my hand slides silken against your skin,
No barriers remaining, fingertips teasing, longing . . .
My teeth close gently upon the softness of your ear,
And slide along your neck, nuzzling, wanting.
I feel my own hot moisture surging in response to you . . .
And . . .
Jarringly, the electronic "whisper" in my ear is not your voice,
And I find myself jolted back to work,
Recovering swiftly to thank yet another customer for choosing Roadrunner,
And hoping my voice doesn't begin to give away
The far more pleasant places my spirit had been idling.
Return to the Library.
Return to the Front Door.
E-mail me at Weavre@graffiti.net