The Cotton Path

Pulling fabric
across thighs,
I find myself
inexcusably wet
and ashamed
because I cannot hide
from the urgency at which I want you
to part them,
to place head between
breathing heavy
into flimsy panty.
Take a peak,
at the wondrous pink
of woman
and slide your tongue across,
fingers flicking
secret little place
that send curls into my toes.
Finish not, with a kiss,
but a long, energetic lap of
movement irresolute
and I'll reward you,
with the warm crush
of legs
wrapped around head,
ensuring my pleasure never ends.