The Poet

He runs his hand tenderly over the white sheet

picking me up gently he lays me down upon it

he gazes at me pensively, a dreamy look in his eyes

He begins to fondle me

I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers and I am

warmed by his touch

As his passion increases I feel the pulse in his fingers

Ardently we begin to move as one 

every stroke excites me

the way his hand moves fills me with exhilaration 

and every time he pauses I am filled with the

arousal of anticipation, willing his next move

Suddenly I feel his mouth warm and moist upon me

his tongue probing me delicately

his teeth grazing me playfully

Gradually he pulls away, inspired,

And I feel the pressure of his fingers once more

I feel his urgency as he moves passionately over the sheet

Then the climax of his last word and his pleasured sigh

brings us to completion

He picks me up, kisses me, covers me

and then slips me into his breast pocket

where I lie passive and content 

listening to his heartbeat 

feeling his chest rise and fall

as he reads the poetry we wrote

©Rose