Surged

[shotknot]

An ethereal kiss,
warming my lips,
soft and tender,
slowing my mind,
skin cells exploding,
and laughter erupting,
better than any oozing poppy.

Your touch burns me gently,
clashing between contradicting sensations,
subtle/intense all at once,
heating my throat like warm tea,
the petals stroking my lips,
brilliantly pink, blushing and yearning,
one small, meaningful production,
repeated over and over.

Dipping into you,
time and time again,
no instruments needed,
raw and delicate,
the tips of my fingers reading your body’s movements,
translating your reaction into wants,
pressure applied to the proper regions,
pushing warmth into you,
restrain from scorching,
restrain from cooling,
must keep a steady, bright flame,
to spark and ignite,
spreading like a California wildfire,
burning the tangled linens,
inhaling your wild embers,
filling my vessel with only your heat,
for I only want to be fueled by your heat.

Slowed and eased,
our limbs, more attentive,
subdued and merged,
our essence,
our energy,
something unseen and misunderstood,
intangible and invisible,
but so real,
we cannot deny these non-anatomic parts,
as they gel into something larger,
growing every time we dance,
always with complimentary steps,
me and you: choreographers striving for eternal perfection.