need

I’m a

w o m a n

who wants to need; needing

you in the depths of my sumptuous

want(s) of desperately having you;; famished.

Sublime in forced reason to immerse within you.

Restlessly thirsting for your skeletal frame to

be deeply situated inside of me, with your warm

sticky flesh pulsating against my royal skin of a

prized appetite. Sweaty palms attached to tangled

fingers along your temple, winding them around

every exposed area of your uncovered physical

stature. As you saturate the poetic pores of your

thighs against my bare hips. Moving in the quick

motion of your inner beat. Breathless moans of manic

mania. With moments of heated specks of perspiration

flowing in and around to my ears, as you whisper the

romantic rhymes of affection; non-Shakespearean prose

of vocabulary of articulate seduction. Pounding a magnified

roused rhythm of salacious hunger which continues

to beat in your brittle bones of raw and tainted ecstasy,

until…, until you burst your loins into a tumultuous flamed fire

of tiny framed fragments; exploding into the galaxy of the

nymphomaniac night of sinewy sin. Lighting up the

electric sky for me (I, the woman who needs) to

selfishly see your rapturous infatuation of obsession

for my sexual soul. Where your prism blue magnetic

stare; the cyan diamond ocean eyes of longing

look back at me, in a wordless motion of possession

for this bloomed rosebud of fornication. Stamen and stem

collide in the bouquet of the brief insanity of belonging together.

Even if it’s just for one encounter. A single night of blissful beautiful

fucking. Mixed with your blood of dynamite to

funnel viciously, through speeds of lascivious lighting

within the protruding veins of wanton love for me, where you

can never quench your 212 degrees of yearning for

my mouth,

my lips,

the creamy liquid between my legs,

the rouge roundness of my rectum,

my fingers.

Toes.

Mind and soul

will ignite the quivering quest of my need in you;

for you.about you.longing for you.

the temperature of the heated boiling point where your tongue

will never, nor can ever, tire of me.

I am a

w o m a n

of need; for you.

.

.

(for Luke; in deep desire of my obsession)

All Rights Reserved 2014 11:16 am; July xvii

Advertisements