My dearest love,

I want to plant a trail of kisses
up your trembling thigh,
while you stare, starstruck,
wondering how anyone could find you
so intoxicating.

I want to drink deeply of your desire,
and use my tongue to spell out a story there:
a one-act play of such intensity
that its inevitable climax
leaves you gibbering in its wake.

I want to caress you –
the tips of my fingers tracing
every glorious inch
of every glorious curve
and memorizing your mysteries.

I want to stir you up,
stoking the fires of your passion
until we’re both burning,
until we’re both erupting,
until we’re both spent.

I want to wake beside you hours later,
a hot, sticky mess,
and give you a smiling, sizzling look
that asks through the exhaustion,
“Again?”

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