The Anguish In The Wait

A splash of anguish crosses her face,
but it is not a product of pain.

He has seen that look,
easily mistaken as an offence,
an infraction of his controlled thrust.  

It took some time to learn.  

He no longer asks,
studying the expression;
the curl of a lascivious smile
that forms at the corner of the mouth
expressed in the swell of her eyes.

The face of a gruelling workout
at the gym,
or midway through a spirited marathon,
pushing the body...

Pushing agajnst him
begging to cocoon
his endowment
Inside the walls of her
- wet and accommodating.

Shifting to get his tip
to that elusive spot
that will trigger
the sensory waterfall.

He will hear the change
in her breath,
her mouth will open

in the torture
before the rapture.