High Heels and Tangled Sheets

You gravitate toward me,
Or maybe it's the other way around;
Like you are the earth
And I am the moon,
Both drawn through the darkness
By a distant burning star.
 
Sake lingering on our breath,
I can't seem to hold you close enough
As hesitation melts into pure longing
And then crystalizes against our lips
Like fragments of sugar coated desire
Spilt across the bedspread.
 
The tighter I hug you....
It's still not enough.
I'm kissing your face,
Your lips, your forehead,
Pushing the hair away
From your eyes,
To allow myself to free fall
Into their endless chartreuse depths.
 
Hands moving on their own,
Sliding up your skirt,
Skin delicately garnished
With exquisite, subtle goose bumps
As my arms hold you closer
And even closer still;
 
Trying to fill the void
Where you have always belonged,
Pushing my face into your neck,
Lips against skin,
Moving tenderly from
Shoulder to shoulder,
Fabric quickly becoming
An ocean between us,
My fingertips exploring
Unmentionable tailored margins
Before slipping softly beyond
Their elastic edges
And the little silver heart
Dangling just above yours.
 
Pacing against your breathing,
Shifting into moaning,
I peel off my own clothes
Just to be close,
Just to feel your skin
Against my own.
I worship you from above,
And let your body become my throne
While your neon green nails
Dig down my back,
Perfectly passionate,
Nice and slow
As I slowly press into you
And feel you press against my soul
 
We move against each other,
Into each other,
Through each other,
Whispering the names
Of deities,
Mythologies,
And tenderly;
Each other.
 
You fill, easily,
Each of my needs,
My deepest pleas
As I reach with seemingly
Bottomless greed;
Insatiable....
 
For you.
 
And as we both lie
Catching our breath
In the afterglow,
My greedy eyes
Try to pry
Vivid layers of imagery
From the masterpiece you are,
To store in the vaults
Of my fondest memories:
 
High heels
And tangled sheets,
Strands of long dark hair
Everywhere,
Panties wrapped around one knee,
Frame you in this perfect scene,
A priceless work of poetry
No master could ever capture.
 
If you were spiritual you’d be the rapture.