And the Softness

It was so not like her

to be so bold, but then again I was not expecting

the softness of her to feel

so commanding against me;

She was ripened fruit, giving way to the slightest

pressure,

She was an ambivalent stoicism within walls of pillow

clouds--

She was broken

And so was I

but we fixed each other, yes we fixed each other with

honey and glue binding us together within

our thighs.

But there was no core of strength in the way

her tongue trailed along my spine

and found glistening thunder

beneath folds of sky

and only then did I feel the quaking earth

die beneath me,

only then did I feel God...

But God, she said, has nothing at all to do with all of this;

So she was right again, spearing me like something stuck

on a spit,

fingers tasting my insides,

tongue caressing my outsides

on all sides

and I said it again, I called out and prayed to God.

And she smiled and told me that I must only pray now

to gods of love as her hands found my face;

gods of war as her knee nestled snugly between my swollen lips

and the gods of pleasure,

gods of the sea, as she lapped at my slick shores...

and I prayed to them all;

I muttered my prayers and thanked them

for slippery slopes nestled in between and mounds of

flesh to envelope in warmth,

of knees, and crooks of arms and napes and insoles

breasts so malleable and languorous in my mouth,

hot breath, insistent flesh...

but mostly I thanked them for musky warmth mingled with

soaked, slick bodies

and the softness. I can't forget the softness.

(c) Trinity Wolf