Memories Seen From My Fingertips.
Who dares to touch in places
touching shouldn't usually be.
Grasps not the flesh but more
they find the thoughts of you I keep.
Your smile was my Indian Summer.
Your eyes my Arab Spring.
Your heart was the Winter of our discontent.
The low constant buzz from beneath the sheet
Thighs slightly splayed not yet ready to meet
An odour of the sweetest kind drifting to the nose
Pheromones driving blood to veins as penis now arose
Licking lips in anticipation,
Sucking on clitoris the perfect sensation
Hot bubbling juices...