Friday, February 10, 2006
I do not know romance, the taste of mint of lips.
Yet, I seek the thrill of its electricity,
flowing like fire in my veins--the burn of blue.
I know not the desires that lurk in your heart,
but I read them on the folds of your lips,
like Braille under my fingertips or sexual morse code.
We dance, we sing, we play each other's bodies,
like harps along the waters of decadence,
each note a sweat drop faling on red satin.
You ask for romance, for the twist of desire
that pulsates along our skin--the paths of pleasure.
The answer, my love is written upon my inner thighs...
the secrets of romance as only I can whisper.