Plush

When you rise each morning, I linger upon the balustrade of your arousal, just to watch the way your plush tip glistens, beckoning me to trail my lips over the eye of your gorgeously engorged rising sun as you drape me upon the edges of your infused passion.    
   
You’re a hopeless wanderer but when you anchor yourself in the depths of my swollen tide, I can’t help but gush all over you after you take me with such fierceness until I’m trembling like a leaf, and swaddled amongst your limbs, awaiting more of your appetite to fill me.    
   
My lust for you is akin to the infinite bond I have with the Summer Solstice as you become eclipsed in your Winter Equinox, and just like the ever changing seasons, our bond evolves seasonally.  
   
The bonfire you lit burns soul deep as the urgency of your kiss holds my heart to ransom while your tongue dances upon mine, solidifying your devotion in motion, as your hips roll against the tidal motions of mine.    
   
You know how to take me violently, again and again, until I’m bursting at the seams, brimming a tectrorial gush that seeps between us, and you temper those waves by making me cycle up and down the avenue of your hard wood, until we’re both pulsating upon one another, marooned at the precipice of our sweet release.