Like velvet would kiss your lips immersed in the petals of the dark red rose.
They open up to the sun: the warmth emanating from within.
And, you get pleasure from the mirth on her face.
She squirming under your mouth, you mapping out every crease with your lips.
Savour with no haste.
You want to take her over the tipping point.
You want her to feel the urgency of your lust:
The honeybees envelop your lips and moisten them with their sweet honey.
Your hunger, immersed in your kiss.
The gloss glistening: at midnight, the moonlight reflected off a still pond;
In essence, your desires, the flames that ravage her thighs: the African Princes, your Goddess and Muse.
You, the cold bleakness of an English winter morn over the fen — You wanting the sun to warm your heart.