Whispering "More"

reluctant at first
she grew ripe
with my tongue
on her ever ready
nipples, heat
and desperation
whispered “more” 

begged to be laid
on all fours
true primal maiden
her slick slit
trembled wet
between half-moon melons,
licked her deprivation
sought a much deeper void
whispering “more” 

leaned my prize
after one finger
touched her
warm floral wonder
hungry lips hanging
amidst moist hair
her perfume scent
whispered “more” 

pulled her in with both hands
like an exotic harbor
nestles a vessel
my proud hard
strawberry head
pressed her buttercup
just an inch
released her repression
gasping greedily
for “more” 

the next inch was a test
—and she passed
writhing in the sheets
flashes of blue satin
gave way
to a feverish chorus
of “more” 

so gorgeous
the last six inches,
her tightness was magic
peach-plum heaven
devouring my grand shaft
squirming like a bad girl
denied a gift at Christmas
—at last her private
pink stocking
was stuffed to the seams
with spirit and cream
smeared sheets
and bodies, she
rolled over finally
new bride smiling:
“no more.”