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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pressing Of Her Flesh (the pleasure of virgin oils)
“I know you've been lookin' for a real man for a “wild child”
So here I am at your door
I've been here once before
Take my hand, I am your man ….....”
….as his majesty crushed the olives against the stone,
virgin and pure the oils began to flow and
so I “press” your body more and more
tighter and tighter
no inhibitions
recalcitrant quaking inside
the fire we make......
….ignition
burning away all the reasons
that we keep saying no
denying each other
the pleasures the fates shall allow so......
.....standing naked before each other; clothes falling to the floor....no resistance
sweet sensations quicken in between
our sensual momentum, both intimate and extravagant,
bordering the lines of the sacred, the spiritual and the obscene
(hidden behind brown-eyed fantasy) a little dirty, tinged with a bit of clean
“......I knew there was something about you,
the way you 'shook my hand', I could be your man “
things we two can share
burning desires
the twain fully aware of
the “cumming of morning”
(as we slept the night away)
blinded by the light
too drunk in lustful persuasion to even care
Pressing each other,
working on a mystery (fuck me)
our juices flowing from deep within
this kindred union
down the insides of
pecan-tanned thighs
right there before my eyes
love's lustful weapon
probing her depths (fuck me)
deeper,
deeper,
deeper.........so hard to breathe
down on my knees (please fuck me)
tasting her sugar
over
and
over
again and again
pressing
unabatedly
complete and total
abandon.....you and me
yielding
to mysteries
found in the
moments of love yet shared
between me and you......
….and the beauty and power of the pressing
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