”Do you want warm pearls on your lips”
he asks
and there I am, aching for gems
like whispers from the soul
where kisses brush everything in between
That overwhelming adjunct
with its skills of artistic wonderment -
conjuring up the salacious hint of arousal
it grows - fast as lightening
and furiously firm -
anxious and playful, soft as a silk worm
dark crimson and grab-it grape
pink with strain
tender-skinned and mushroom-headed
tonguey
and hard in the artist's hand
full of gush-awaiting girth and
oh, so lovely
Painting his sweet self on my skin
a wizardry of width
peeled back with numb perambulatory exertion
that slippery slickness of anticipation
inviting my mouth to wrap around it
in hot-lipped pretension
to harvest
the cream of the crop...
Harvest
©crisstiena
Gold trophy winner
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