It’s how you finish.

 
Tracing the outline of a face
with eyes and fingertips.
Roughened thumbs on cheekbones,
flushed cheeks to heated skin.

Eyes opened then to shutter, fall,
and hands are wanderers who search to hold.
Petaled lips, their gentle tint
meets desire with an open sigh.

crushed roses underfoot

Darkened irises whose passion caresses
the sparks of fire the churning emotion.
And we cling and shudder to grab
illusive twinges, blossoming promise.

cupping flame in our hands, a poignant pang.

And I tilt my head to the side,
lay my face against your chest--your shoulder.
Twine our hands, and press a kiss
against your fingertips.

Pleasure in the aftermath.



(The perfect kiss.)