What I will give to no other lover I pour into your hands.
I had not been with you an hour and you were inside of me,
not just my quaking pussy,
but my soul,
opening itself wide before you,
fearlessly splaying under your soft command.
Each boundary you push gives easy.
I am only a glisten,
a mirage whose intangible fruit you still pluck, as though by magic,
offering me a succulent bounty
I readily devour.
You spoil me into pains and pleasures
you must force me to stay bodied,
to merge with you only
so I don’t dissipate
into the nothing.
I shiver when you call me baby;
the moaning adoration you leave in coded welts along my curves
arouse in me a pride delicious.
You give me what my hormone-saturated girlhood imagination
could only guess at, pined endlessly over:
the golden darkness of total surrender,
replete with rippling waves of absolute bliss,
unencumbered by hesitation or restraint,
shameless and indulgent.
What I had only just to hope for
without expectation to receive,
you shower upon me –
words I’d rationed myself flooding forth,
flavoring my tongue as it lingers in your mouth,
shivering quick like red lightening into each particle
as they come alive under you,
remember as though I just missed your face in high school —
it would have been you
in ten years, or ten ago,
but maybe not as instantly, entirely.
Entwine me in the curls of your hair as you sleep,
now me forever,
as long as you want.