In the still of the night a single kiss was the moon making love to the ocean and your eyelids squeezed closed in ecstasy was the view of the tides rushing in as a result of that union. Words become so useless when your fingertips become a sort of cruel kind, controlled electricity pacing over my flesh raising my blood to the surface. My body blushes beneath your loving gaze, but my sun blessing hides the proof. Turn around, love, wait there anticipating, as I do when you undress. Anticipate where my tongue will touch you first. Forgive the torture I know you will when I whisper my devotion, lips brushing your ears irresistibly. How does it feel? When I lick your lips and evade your urge does anger threaten to overcome unfulfilled desire? Patience. Desperation is never attractive, I have said, but it was right then. And the influence I possessed cast me into a vertigo similar to the effect of your body's taste on my lips.
Though a few moments in my perception, I can see in your eyes that the time converges upon eternity. The adoration of you is a function of my understanding your soul. And I understand you more with every moment, your hands reaching back to press me close... a sort of reverse embrace, like a child holding a parent in its arms. I can feel your heart beat when I lick the outline of your spine ascending to the supple flesh of your neck shielded beneath cascades of ebon, silken coiffur, never caring for your body's drip. Yes, your body drips like a tap when a patient finger possessing strength lifts the lever or turns the knob so slowly it seems the water will never truly... Come learn the teaching of a foreplay that does not promise invasion. Revel in a touch that may caress your mind until you spasm, relinquishing hope of something moving... Deeper your understanding of my purpose will become as your back arches and I taste your lips again, sampling the fervor found within saliva trapping the essence of hot exhalations.
Your murmur into my lips suggests the heat which must lie within you. That temperature rises as a result of internal alarm and your inundation will not serve to quench a fire that lives far beneath your skin. The blaze that your pores now exude seek a tongue of flame. Ignore the apparent antithesis and submit, I beg, beneath my kiss. Riffs of harmony play in a background that is now a vacuum serving only as an unwatching spectator. The medicine I offer is a smooth, slow water. But you beg a syringe of fire that your own fingertips cannot inject. Help me find the rhythm to complete a song that heals the schism between God and man. The Divine is complete, but we are two. In this act, we eradicate the incomplete and true words speak in the last shudder. I worship the Almighty in becoming you.