Contours flaunt for hands wisened to touch
turning over to be displayed candid,
set to devour me in courses,
with a nice red to wash me down,
lulled to pleading
I expose what presents
had no inclination to cover.
Begs sweetly he be released, but
softness calls lonely songs
finds echoes in outlandish distance.
a peek of flesh is not what he's after. . .
he wants more,
perhaps sighs against love struck face
devilish fantasies,
tatting his vulnerability all over my page
says with earnestness,
I want to touch you now. . .
I'm afraid to think
what lightened his mind, caused the friction to
shake revealed core.
I bake him a sweet cake, one dripped with icing,
and sing him a song I know very well.
Happy birthday honey, now sit back and enjoy the ride. . .
cheek
.
Adding your comment:
WOW, what a beautiful butt, and an equally beautiful poem to go with it.
