Gooseflesh

Her thigh was stippled with goose flesh and chill,
But you could feel the warmth beneath her skin,
While sliding fingers upwards to the hem
Of her thin, bathing suit; you had the will
To slip your fingers underneath; begin
Such clever conquests, flavoured by the crème,
That gathered in her crease, as she held still
You found her eager, quite ready to swim
In bliss, rather than sea water again;
You added other fingers, felt the thrill
She sensed as you lingered and could just skim
The cunt and thighs and, then, squeezed all of them;
And loved the keen revealing of her breasts
And all her dewy dampness when ‘goose fleshed’