Touches of Texture

Touches of textures
each unique
her mind guesses
feathers?
silk?
leather?
satin?
rose?
Each glides up and down
He is artist
she canvas

frigid touch of ice
melts against smooth
of ample breasts
rising and falling
with breath now quickening
as fast shrinking cube
leaves chilly trail
to sizzling heat
of torrid sex

warmness of hands
one on knee
one on breast
slowly they move
converge at curve of waist
mechanically He strokes her
barely brushing
her pouted lips

His mouth
scalding on eloquent belly
kisses roughly
to just above
pulsating ache
inhaling excitement
Licking pink folds
faintly as if his tongue
was a butterfly wing
she thrusts forward
a moan, a roll of hips
to pull him deeper
He ceases to touch
and only laughs
at her helplessness