The heartbeat of your stimulation beats in syncopation with my desire to please you.
You breathe very slowly, as I inhale the detailed whispers of what you anxiously await, to uncover you.
There is a train in the membrane ,which climbs to the height of our awaiting passions.
Your hands write onto my back, the secrets of gratitude.
You claw a print onto me gently; yet very passionately. I thrust into you deeply, and your sighs recognize the power, enveloped within my passion.
Your canvas has shown me yellow chakras a liken to sun rays.
Your hair is sizzling and your pulse calmly speaks of eager anticipation.
I am paraded through the fire that belongs in our eyes.
I no longer insist that we keep our cool, as the flames eat us alive.
My love for you, uncovered us in the cold.
The heat is sufficient enough!
While your pounding heartbeat scribbles your lifeline, my drums signatures my thirst for life!
In many motions my mind is like a train, and the membrane is enveloped in my present passions. I remember writing this piece when eye gazed at a shy angel at a party. She was too shy to speak in detail with me. I somehow could tell by the sweat of my suspicion there was a narration, that would begin when she shook my hand. All of this is
innuendo, and none of it truly summarizes the actual; That is what makes metaphor, a cleaver designer! What you read is tempted to persuade a sense of sexual heat. Behind the door of sensual and sexual invitation is the knob of broader expressions. Expressions which detail other mannerisms. which dance in my mind. It’s more than the mere mention of taste and intimacy, the train is what institutes a track of arrival. I can’t derail off the tracks, when the focus is within a membrane!