Making Love With the Rain Pounding Down on the Cabin Roof

I hesitate somewhat to submit this poem to this site because I have received a real cross section of comments regarding it in the past.  Understand that I very rarely write anything of this nature, most of my love poems are not quite as naked as this one is. 




Making love
with the rain pounding down
on the cabin roof ---
body to body, my every cell
pulsating in hungry expression
of passion,
love bells ringing in my ears,
my breast, my loins.
My hand follows
the contour of your thigh,
soft whiteness and warmth,
eager to my touch ---
a gentle sigh,
your tongue near my ear,
your breathing quickened,
hot against my neck . . .
your belly, fleshy,
releasing butterflies
of anticipation.
Your hand touches my hand,
moves it down a little lower,
to the edge of the magic rainforest
where moisture
and the scent of womanhood
begins to awaken.
Up to your breasts,
ample and milk-skin soft,
nipples become excited and rigid.
I trace the scars of reduction operation,
remember how sore and red they were
three years earlier ---
Now my palms encompass
perfectly shaped pears
of pleasure,
thumb and forefinger
caressing light brown
sand dollars.
You moan slightly,
thighs tightening around mine.
Your breath even sharper now,
torso rubbing against torso,
desire enflamed,
a longing to be united
in that brief moment
when everything falls away.
Now my hand leaves breasts,
traces bellybutton,
and then back
down to the hot
wet and fertile soil
from where Caitlin was born
six years ago.
My fingers caress the outer lips,
feel heat, and slowly
and gently part this corridor
that has become so familiar to me,
yet never seems the same.
Every time I experience
different nuances of movement,
different measures
of pleasure.
Finger now inside,
enveloped in the soft tissue
within you.
Your body moving rhythmically,
as if involuntarily.
Delicate touch of clitoris,
swollen, like silk,
becoming firmer
with my every stroke.
Then down with bearded face
to the entrance,
to the very biological essence of you,
tasting the sweet nectar,
feeling your arousal
beginning to peak.
Soft moans in my ears,
vaginal fluid flowing,
body arching back,
hot, vibrant
and young again.
I want to enter you, not just with penis,
but with my whole being,
my whole body and soul.
Your hips wide,
my mouth welcomed
by your wet expanse.
Rhythmic dance of your torso,
clitoris now enlarged.
I can feel your heartbeat on my tongue,
until in a sudden burst
of shuddering moisture
you climax,
your hands gripping
my shoulders,
body almost spasmodic, jerky,
in that holy place
where time becomes
meaningless.
I find my way into your hot languid orchard,
spill forth my seed,
body swayed back,
releasing every last ounce
of milky blue sperm
into your fragrant soil
and lower myself to your breasts,
find your eyes in the darkness
and whisper: "I LOVE YOU".
This language of spirit and physical ecstasy
has been spoken between us
so many times
over the last twelve years,
yet whenever we enter the sacred garden
we are able to plant new flowers,
virgin flowers
that have never blossomed
before.
So lover, wife and friend for life,
here on this night
with the rain outside the cabin window,
let me thank you once again
for the blessing you have been to me ---
I am no longer saddened and solitary,
but instead I wander like a pilgrim
to the sacred altar

of your womb.