Like a Brancusi sculpture in gleaming black marble, your torso is shaped into exquisite form. No mortal muse could inspire such dripping lust. Hand polished to a luster of reflective brilliance, the tiny mica imperfections are but glitter to please my eye. This is no heavy stone that will float above my sweating body and satisfy my craving for beauty & release. My ego feeds on the riveting grace as reward for an artist's eye and when I move behind, the tearing between capturing the vision at the length of an arm & touching the solid reality beneath my hands melts my heart until that very first caress. My eyes close reflexively and my nails begin to claw at the yielding skin, raking along your thighs while I devour the slick salty flavors of you….I bury my face in that ass and my tongue enjoys a texture my eyes never knew. Teasing, coaxing, drooling ... I nudge my way past all resistance until that tight hole relaxes. When you cry out and move beneath my mouth - a primitive sensual thing - I lose my final grip on civilization. Ragged breathing rips through my chest as the firm flesh and warm, sweaty skin excite my body until I’m pushing and moaning
and filling that tight chamber with all my frenzy and frustration. Manners and reason deconstruct into cock and balls and blurred motion….I plunge and collide until I can’t see the marble and I can’t see the form….and I’m consumed with wild howling so that my thrusts come faster and deeper until chaos steals my vision and …I can’t see…I can’t see ...
We tumble and entwine while our hearts regain a steady rhythm, our hot breath mingling in the moments after. We say the small things that make us human….but the divine is gone….the sublime is missing… and…I mourn the loss of a perfection I could almost touch.
"We say the small things that make us human….but the divine is gone….the sublime is missing… and…I mourn the loss of a perfection I could almost touch."
ReplyDeleteBabe hit that one over the left field fence.