Come closer, with sugar on your breath. Let your mouth remember sweetness. Lift your hair so scent rises. Stand in my shadow and give me your throat. I will speak there first, slow as a pour. Set your palms on the table, steady. Let your gaze stay with mine. A mouth along your shoulder, a quiet river that knows its source. A shiver blooms, keep it. Your sound ripens against my tongue. Offer your lower lip, ripe from wine. I harvest a sip, then another, arms like vines at late afternoon. Your heart drums under my fingertips a hidden beat, quick and bright. Turn toward the mirror. Let light climb your shoulder. I choose the first kiss where warmth gathers, the second along the edge of your mouth, the third at the line where linen yields to glow. Say my given softly, once, again, richer, again, as if the word carried sweetness in its basket. Your eyelids half-mast, let me watch you listen. Breath across your neck . Each whisper a small key. Each pause a wire. Your back arches, ready for instruction. Good. Hold still for the next taste. Wet the rim of your glass, one slow turn. Set it down. Open your lips the same way for me. Lime and smoke, a hint of sugar from the stem. I collect it sweetness and return it to you, warmer. Walk into me. One knee against mine. Let your hands rest behind you, offering your breast. I kiss along the path that lifts your breath, then stop a finger’s width from where you want me most. Promise me a tremor, take a breath that carries jasmine. I answer with teeth at your shoulder, gentle harvest, with tongue along the pearl of your lobe, a word said low enough mistaken for thought. Now hold. Let wanting change your hue. We move on my count, slow. You match my stride, half a step behind, mouth swollen with sugar and order. This hour belongs to your fragrance and the way your voice lowers when I claim the next part by saying so.
<sigh...>
Thank you.