Post by Eclipse on Feb 25, 2004 15:17:06 GMT -5
yeah i usually don't write like this so I'm not really great at it, but here goes! hope you like it! (btw, this isn't really about someone. just had the inspiration to write it)
Sweet Agony
A soft butterfly caress, a kiss on the sweet spot
Behind my knee; fingers softly drum a melody.
Like the tortured fingers as they’re strumming harmonies
On the artist’s fine tuned strings; they’re playing their rhythms
Upon the upturned pale of my throat.
You run your fingertips across the ridge,
Traveling up to find the delicate curve
Of the back of my ear. Oh and hot whispers,
You speak; and it’s ecstacy! The warm flow of
Your precious words; tickling fine hairs across my skin.
Alas, I cannot hear what you say.
But your lips against my flesh, oh they write proclamations!
And hold secrets to unleashing all I have ever held back.
And the melodies hum in my ears, the bittersweet notes
Ring torment in your painfully saccharine intentions.
The perfect fit of our lips, the salty tart of your skin.
Drinking a sweet wine of passion, burning as it goes down.
Feel of ministrations; weave a web of these sensations.
Spinning me a silk cocoon, surrendering to your will.
Wishing on the stars exploding before my eyes.
Drink me up, in tiny sips; lips taste the skin inside my thigh.
Hands roaming, memorizing, mapping the curves of my back.
And I run my hands through your hair, lacing around your neck.
Searching; somehow finding, your mouth in the ebony dark.
I’m tossing and turning overboard; you’re pulling me back again.
And I thrash beneath your hands, in this: sweet agony.
Sweet Agony
A soft butterfly caress, a kiss on the sweet spot
Behind my knee; fingers softly drum a melody.
Like the tortured fingers as they’re strumming harmonies
On the artist’s fine tuned strings; they’re playing their rhythms
Upon the upturned pale of my throat.
You run your fingertips across the ridge,
Traveling up to find the delicate curve
Of the back of my ear. Oh and hot whispers,
You speak; and it’s ecstacy! The warm flow of
Your precious words; tickling fine hairs across my skin.
Alas, I cannot hear what you say.
But your lips against my flesh, oh they write proclamations!
And hold secrets to unleashing all I have ever held back.
And the melodies hum in my ears, the bittersweet notes
Ring torment in your painfully saccharine intentions.
The perfect fit of our lips, the salty tart of your skin.
Drinking a sweet wine of passion, burning as it goes down.
Feel of ministrations; weave a web of these sensations.
Spinning me a silk cocoon, surrendering to your will.
Wishing on the stars exploding before my eyes.
Drink me up, in tiny sips; lips taste the skin inside my thigh.
Hands roaming, memorizing, mapping the curves of my back.
And I run my hands through your hair, lacing around your neck.
Searching; somehow finding, your mouth in the ebony dark.
I’m tossing and turning overboard; you’re pulling me back again.
And I thrash beneath your hands, in this: sweet agony.
