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The Mistress

I curl contented in your arms,
head resting on your chest,
inhaling the scent that is you.

I quiver in expectation,
a prisoner of your touch,
burnt with the passion of your fingertips.

I heat with desire,
captivated by the depths of your eyes,
enraptured, captured in your stare.

My body tenses beneath your lips,
embroiled in hearted responses.
An instrument played.

I loose me heart, lower my defences.
Filled with hopeless sadness,
I am your secret

A contest entry

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