When I Was Down to Earth

I hold you in my hands and squeeze your tight body closely against mine.
The hours of night drip their silver star dew onto your skin, and I rub it in as romantic oil.
Smelling the perfume of perfumeless skin freshly dried from a late shower, I peck your neck and hum like a songbird into your ear,
"Do you know how sexy, how sexy, how sexy, how sexy, how sexy you are right now? Everything around you burns up in sexual flames."
I brush your hair slowly, slowly, slowly, deeply with my left hand with my right underneath your backbone following up and down your spinal chord to be one with your spinal nervous system and inspire a reflex, a sudden chill that makes you shimmy further into my torso.
Your breasts meet my chest as the energy flows from heart to heart in realizing the same vibrations.
We breath deeply and expand into the other's personal world.
Your yogic frame plays happily through my fingers and returns.

Sweet almonds liberally percolated by my oral enzyme-rich mixture.
The fingers lubricated by your clear vaginal salsa tienen fiesta around your clitoral floor.
Your floor earthquakes, and I collapse into you utterly and irrevocably,
and everything burns up in your sexual flame.