7 Levels of Sex

 
 
kissing rooftops
of every building
this morning  
 
as eyes slowly
turn themselves  
into fountains,
 
knowing you
are missing
from me.

The sensation of her fingertips
Gently touching my hardened face
The taste of her tender lips
Memories I can't erase
Soft touch all over my skin
Her body I to explored
Her passion burned from within
As her key opened my hearts door

So many moments that we shared
Over time our love deeply grew
Emotional boundaries that we dared
My deepest secrets only she knew
We tried new things together
Expanding experiences from our past
Forging our relationship to last forever
Everything about us was meant to last

At times when I was at my lowest
Distraught, vulnerable and open
She would always help me focus
And keep me from feeling broken
Without words our eyes would meet
Speaking volumes of silent words
Without her I'm incomplete
Remembering the day this occurred

Pain, fatigue and sudden weight loss
Trouble swallowing with a fever
Concern was fueling a million thoughts
By her side I would never leave her
Two years ago on valentines day
We got back from her appointment
Test results just a few days away
Of cancer and our disappointment

My unwavering faith would never erode
Despite the suffering she'd endure
The journey ahead a challenging road
Praying her doctors would find a cure
Stains of time and challenges of life
Our commitment they are testing
But she will always be my wife
My love, and an eternal blessing

The tips of your fingernails sail across my skin
just as your wet tongue sails across my lips.

Eye to eye, we share what makes us cry,
however personal, neither are afraid to tell.

Vulnerable armor we wear now as we talk
as we have somewhat surrendered so far.

And this talk of armor turning to tears,
as we witness ourselves melt emotionally.

Spirits high as we share giggles and winks.
To explore the other both spiritually and on flesh.

Surrendering by sharing lips and hot breaths.
Surrendering by sharing a sweaty embrace.

I want to feed him with my breasts.
I want his tongue darting softly
in my mouth, in and out like the waves
upon the shore. To sit upon his engorged flesh
and love his pain away, my tongue
lapping at his tears.

I want to swallow his past, his fears
while my sex swallows his member,
up and down, side to side, in slow,
deliberate agony. His thick stalk
is slick and glistening with my need,
so deep inside me I can feel
the tight pounding of his testicles.

Sometimes, he lets me behold the wonder
of our bodies joined together, skin to skin,
pubic hair to pubic hair, holding my legs
wide as I behold the wonder of our coupling,
feeling the strain of his holding back
in his taut arms. Other times, he pushes me
onto my back, entering me with all his force,
all his haunted yearning and matching desperation.
Throwing my legs over his shoulders, he pounds
into me while I drown in the intoxicating sounds
of our love: the wet plopping, slapping-smacking,
the loud sounds of his pleasure.

I want to feel his moans inside me. To be as soft
and pliable to him as a doll as he turns me away
from him, slides my body onto his shaft.
He alternately lifts and lets me fall upon him
as he pushes high into me, his muscles corded
with sweat and tension. He is so hard and full
it almost hurts, and he watches my face crinkled
in pleasure-pain, my eyes half-lidded as if drugged.

In my dreams, his eyes are black. Piercing.

I hunger to know and taste every part of him.
For my womb, lips, throat, and flesh to be doused
in his seed. When I take him in my mouth, his
throbbing fullness, the soft sac of his testicles,
I am so hungry for him, every pore of my body
screaming so wildly for him, that I am shocked
at how deeply I take him in, how much of him
I swallow, and it is not enough. It is never enough.

I ache for his breath and words, be them harsh
and ragged, soft and gentle, to plunder my ears
as his goldenrod staff plunders the wet flower
of my core, over and over, relentlessly.

For he is never so beautiful, my fallen angel,
as when he is thrusting into me, my mouth,
between my breasts, in other forbidden places,
strong hands holding me in place, making me catch him.

I want his hands everywhere on my body, teasing,
learning, knowing. I want him to touch my most
secret place, swirling his fingers in my desire,
bringing them to my lips, making me taste myself
upon him. I want to hear him growl and shudder
as he takes me, all the while hoarsely chanting,
‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’

When I meet him, I will have rubbed orange blossoms
and vanilla onto my skin, between my legs.
There will be pinned a sole flower in my hair.

When I leave him, his scent will cling to my skin
for days. I shall sleep and eat little yet burn
forever, waiting to lie with him again. Knowing
this madness will never exhaust itself.

Yesterday I saw a woman walking by and now I'm trying to picture her nude
Thinking of all the things I could do
Treating her in bed, my thoughts are naughty and rude
Sometimes when I'm bored I get pleasure this way
Imagination goes hardcore, which to me is ok
Thoughts tend to wander there everyday
Easier to jerking it to porn, nothing more to say

3 holes, 2 hands, you can please many guys at once
And when the're done, they're gonna cum all over your face
Your moaning will be drowned by a mouth gag
Get pounded so hard you won't walk for days
Spanked, choked, bonded and dominated
You'd be covered in jizz, lubed up and hydrated

Wildest fantasies dwell in our filthy minds
Sometimes they make me feel like I'm deranged
A lot of them are socially unacceptable
But I'll be fine if I keep it to myself

The virgin on stage, perfection and criteria,
attentive look, judge with mystery, blurred.
Extremely minimal details reveal sincerity,
but always with a dry, hard touch of evil.
 
Imperfections and false pretenses, makeup,
the black invades, the white keeps skin grey
so the virgin can go on searching for pleasure
for its own parts, obscure and needy, humidities.
 
They pray, oh, they prey... catch and fly away,
Harpy wings, no feathers, only plain old sins.
They slay, slowly, so meticulously draining
one victim after the other, no mercy, desdain.
 
The virgin believes its bowels are filled up
with all the vanities of the holy trinity bonfire.
Whiping the sinners as if they want more
of their sacred touch of virginity mental illness.