The Author of Your Pleasure...

pluck the strings
on her blouse,
where her skin taste sweeter

over the areola ring
as I douse
her every centimeter            

till she glistens,
then I enact to
reside in soft rayon,          

softest in the solar system,
on my back you
inscribe the dossier on

and spiel the summary
into my ear,
the author of your pleasure

walking through wondery,
the bliss here                                    
too much to measure

perpetually enduring
the winter summer                              
spring and fall

time begins blurring,
betwixt awake and slumber                
stepping over myself sprawled...