Awake early in the naked, teal morning
Still wet from dancing in the rain
My subconscious kissing her femininity
But the memories remain love-stained
Her fingers gripping my shoulders
Our souls constantly trying to absorb
Soft, low moans quietly evident
I’m enchanted by her fleshy orbs
We’re exposed in the light of dawn
A realness that won’t be concealed
We have a glow of our own
No words exist, but a truth she can feel
There are many fancy writers
Those who are great, they’ve decided
Elegant illustrations & plunging necklines
But hubris is often one-sided
There are many arrogant writers
Quick with the wit they’ve decried
Moans of pain suited to their fame
Loving with one eye open it’s often implied
Excuse me, Miss
I need help between the books
You look down your glasses at me
Don’t worry about their errant looks
You’re dressed mighty nice
I think it’s by the back shelves
It seems I’ve gotten us lost
Oh my, I think we’re by ourselves
I pull you in close
A hand sneaks under your skirt to play
You moan aloud; onlookers’ smile
Apparently we’re still on display
Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay
This is a game we can’t lose
& I’m very good at taking cues
A reflexive wink or a low moan
Demanding a perfection we hone
Bliss comes in any position we choose
Captain Q 