Salted garlic seasons your kiss.
I salivate –
long for you to pepper
gentle nips along my outstretched neck.
Your nails etch fine lines, decorate
my inner thighs with intricate designs.
Your rough-haired arms shave against my back,
I watch your shaft snuggled in its russet nest.
I lick a dawn dewdrop from its swollen tip
and stroke you, light yet firm,
your hot hand cradled around mine.
You shudder and cry, joined to me in isolation.
I deep-ache, await my own release.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ceinwen Haydon
would be pleased to hear them.