Prelude

A Spring breeze
passes through the window
and the silky curtains
dance like ardent nymphs
clad merely in flowers
 
Our music plays low
around us
while you lay
cradled in my arm
 
My fingers skimming slow
across the braille of
your goose-bumped lips,
reading again
and again
your silent pleas
 
And you voice
the word in my ear,
wavering,
relaxing in
the gentle sculpting
of my fingertips on your flesh
 
I press my lips
to your slender neck,
nibbling at you as an
uninitiated vampire,
wondering if it’s too soon
to let my lips trek down
your glorious body
and relieve my tireless fingers
 
You air shaky suggestions
in between provocative gasps,
for now content to endure
the mounting pleasures of
finger painting
 
I relish this,
teasing you
nearer and nearer
to a satisfying intermission
 
My mind overclocked with
all my knowledge of you
and how to delightfully employ it,
maximizing each of our
carnal encounters
 
Your words have disassembled
into lovely grunting moans
as my strokes grow stronger
 
I whisper for you to give in,
and your labored reply,
concentrated on your endurance,
struggles to say:
‘Not yet’
 
I grin adoringly
at your glad grimace
as we both know
your first orgasm
is mere prelude for the night