Incubus

No way to resist, to make love to a poet
Lying in wait
A pool of scalding anticipation.

Feeling my heart pounding in my chest
The rising heat a sauna,
As I cast my eyes upon my prize
He breathes in my ear... softly
His words, a poisonous nectar luring me
Running through my ears,...
Down my throat,...

Between my lips,...
Down my thighs

" Here it comes..."
Back arched, hips high, ready
Each stanza filling me, burning from the inside out

His words...
A thousand fingertips across my skin,
all over my body

Every part
Every crevice.

Probing deep,
Wanting more from me,
Demanding more with each thrust, each utterance

Each moan...my very soul

His passion seeps through every pore on his body...
Salty sweet.

Fist full of sheets,

Surrender,

Shudder,

Open my eyes only to find I lie alone,
Sweating, fingers dripping,
Pages of writings scattered across the floor.
My body a vessel for his spirit to ravage me unbound by time and miles.

Roll over, lids low, exhale
Oh, to make love to a poet
As I reach for the next piece.