It would feel so right
to kneel at his feet while he would sit up; my gaze directed upward.. the slightest touch and he can do as he pleases with me...
But he persists that he be the one who kneels!.. and we fight playfully. then sit entwined..
outside in the fresh air he horses around, and picks flowers for me.
i have this fixation because it's what i
want to do.. picking flowers... the process of choosing the most compatible matches in a combination which best suits loves constantly changing beauty and mood. and we keep them by our bed, so
many bouquets of them... it makes the bed look as though it's inhabited by someone ill or dying.. so
many flowers. like a tribute..
yes a sweet death occured, when i left my former life behind and found you.
and now all is total intoxication and i'm half-frightened of how far this bliss can be pushed.. it is almost too
at this he smiles, knowing his intention... 'just when you think all has calmed.. i will engulf you with ever more passion than before
.'[i am taken infinitely by this, alone]
drunkenly we fight and softest moans seem to come from my heart itself. his expressions in the prelude to our lovemaking have the sensitivity of a woman. his eyes are light and low-lashed, bedroom. his lips part easily to reveal teeth which bite teasingly at my lips.
is the desire and so desperate
our passion that bruises, bites, cuts all are made helplessly in this restless struggle for complete mutual possession.
it is only after our climax that we may rest.