On a Sunday Afternoon

It was a warm,
Sunday afternoon.
 
We had been working,
In the garden,
Among the flowers.
 
I stood,
Stretched,
The cramps out
 
I was lightly covered,
With a thin coat of sweat,
Sticky.
 
Walked toward the house,
Entered,
Pealed myself bare,
Stepped into the shower,
Cold.
 
Closed my eyes,
Turned ‘round and ‘round,
Rinsing the sweat away,
Cooling my skin.
 
Felt a hand on my back.
 
Eyes still closed,
Turned ‘round,
Once more.
 
As I turned,
The hand trailed,
Across my back,
Along my arm,
To the middle of,
My chest.
 
Pinched my nipple.
 
Twisted it,
Just enough.
 
The fingers of,
Another hand,
Traced down my,
Sternum,
Found my navel,
Explored,
Continued on down.
Found what they were seeking.
 
With my eyes still closed,
Felt her lips meet mine,
Her tongue found mine,
Her breasts touched mine.
 
My hand,
Acting on its own,
Caressed around her back,
Pulled her tight against me.
 
As our bodies snuggled,
Against each the other,
Her fingers,
Guided me,
Into her.
 
We remained there,
In the cool water of the shower,
Tightly entwined,
Dancing to our own,
Silent melody of love.
 
Until our bodies,
Each,
Delivered its,
Offering of fulfillment,
To the other.
 
Still we stood there,
Reveling in that,
Moment of rapturous sharing,
Locked in an embrace,
Neither wanted to break.
 
Until,
Sighing,
Hand-in-hand,
We exited the shower,
Walked into our,
Bedroom,
To join again,
On this warm,
Sunday afternoon.