Soft cheeks and earrings pouring drinks filled with one hundred proof sexuality.
Naked eyes and glances my way.
I love tattoos that have meaning.
A Body piercing that is a forbidden truth.
Clothing that hangs perfectly with her individuality and not a crowd pleasing venture to blend in.
I love naked skin and my mind devours the unknown.
She stands over me ready fulfill some fantasy, which not always belongs to me.
Pleasures of the free spirit are on our mind, and I dive into all of it like a warm earthly spring.
Her smells,
Her ink,
Her demanding me to know she is innocent.
She proclaims it all as she devours my guilty soul.
Her earrings and ponytail spring to life and fall repeatedly to the small of her neck.
The hips shifting like a ship as sea.
We are exposed.
Expressed.
Hearts ablaze with tonight’s passion of sensuality.
I must own and possess her like a shiny coin.
Toes caress my legs as daylight breaks on my dusty window shades.
She asks without speaking for me to get up and make a skillet breakfast.
My hangover demands less,
Scrambled eggs and a passion for biscuits I don’t have in the fridge.
She must be worthy of at least some warm toast, cheese, and even an omelet.
She stayed till morning,
And that is more than I can say about a few that held her cozy place in the past.
I am an early riser when a woman lies asleep.
I rarely sleep anyhow, and afternoons after were meant for relaxing and reflecting the night and seductions before.
I like the taste of women in the morning hours.
Twelve hours at least have past,
Since they have groomed and covered up themselves completely.
A half day between being prepped, prepared, and guarded to the facts of conquering a man.
Exposed and lovely.
She hates and loves the attention.
I get my breakfast and she gets hers.
The bus leaves in 20,
Better get dressed and hurry.
The weakest moments of surrender,
Become the drips of passion and humanity we desire in the cool morning hours.
Poetry On Demand 