Archive-name: Poetry/sensexpe.txt
Archive-author: Mary Prior
Archive-title: Sensual Expectations
copyright 1979
Breathing deeply, I close my eyes
and let my body waken,
Lying quietly, I feel myself tremble,
contemplating delight.
Unsure of what will come, I feel
the warm wetness of a mouth
nestling in the hollow
of my throat --
Softly and sensuously nuzzling, nipping.
Hot breath, like butterfly wings,
brushes my neck;
lips, not quite touching --
hovering, hesitating ... gone.
I will my eyes shut,
to let my body learn
to see, to sense, to be aware.
I'm conscious of a nearness;
and a hand smoothes my breast
lingering at the nipple,
kneading and circling;
then to the other breast.
My flesh responds as a light current
courses through my skin -- and deeper.
Then the tongue, hot and hard, probes
the rise of my belly and returns
again to my breasts,
sucking, pulling them erect!
That tongue, its mouth hungry
and feasting on my flesh, probes lower
Hot and moist, it touches the edges and
flings me into an abyss of sensation.
Warm wetness washes over me,
swirling and around, like a whirlpool
reaching to suck me
into its center.
I must not resist, must let myself be
drawn into an inevitable teasing prelude
to an orgasmic concerto.
I lie here: open, willing, waiting,
desiring, demanding!
Impatience makes my need sharper,
more hungry.
NOW! PLEASE!
... and the tongue slowly descends
Lips wrap around my shrieking center
gently encouraging my fierce spasms
of delight --- drawing out all
inhibitions and exiling them
to another dimension.
Delight fast becomes sensual
torture -- as it's meant to be,
Teasing, tempting, tantalizing --
until I'm ready to scream
my need! Ready to force the
culmination
my body insists must come!
I catch my breath and breathe raggedly,
Lips move again to my breasts
and my neck and my lips.
My slick thighs open, wanting --
yet not wanting -- an end,
I feel your firmness, your
velvet hardness -- your MALENESS
against my thighs, pushing gently,
teasing me, opening me just enough
to make me want more ... NOW!
But you withdraw and I can sense,
almost see how close you wait
for me to come beyond need -- to
become necessity -- absolute!
... and you begin again, slowly
entering, waiting, pushing --
not withdrawing -- sliding further
as I wrap myself around you and
caress you inside myself.
Now faster and harder, not yet
with rhythm -- infinitesimally
different and more exciting!
I ache and arch -- and the rhythm
begins. We thrust and move
together, working to consummate
this flesh-oriented work of art.
There is nothing left in this time
and space but my flesh
and my primeval need.
I no longer think
or wonder
or desire:
I am no more.
--
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