Organic

I want you to sprawl me across fresh crispy sheets just so we can torment one another, subtley yet suggestively with our eyes, under the ambience of a flickering flame.

No, wait.

Perhaps, I want you seated on a chair, blindfolded.

So, all you have is your sense of smell and touch to enlighten yourself with as I straddle you, and lick the side of your face from the jawline up to your cheekbone, before running my tongue along the length of your lips, only to find the sweet scent of my cunt all over them as you pinch and pull upon my erect nipples.

Nipples, that ache to be drawn into your mouth.

And further south, we traverse, until you've lost your composure and my lips are sealed tightly upon the width and length of all that remains unspoken like a token, of my yearning & passion for you, all over me.

Still. 

We'd surrender ourselves upon crispy sheets, however, the precursor to such unravelings before serving one another upon the alter of love, would be to find the organic semblance within your ferocious appetite to devour me. 

Afterall, we're both made of flesh and bone as we melt into one another sonorously;

skin on skin
breath on breath
forehead to forehead

as we commit acts of unspeakable sin, and  we leave our mark upon one another while my passionfruit drips like a ripened peach at the thought of you, penetrating me, until I gush all over you.

Somehow, I just don't think we'll be sleeping on crispy sheets after we're done, doing one another, organically.