Boom!

It was a warm, sultry, summer’s night. The breeze that blew in through the window, lifting gauzy curtains, carried the hint of rain, making the hot night feel even warmer. The man and woman in the room, however, were too occupied to notice much. Stretched out on the bed, the covers thrown aside, their nude bodies were highlighted by the light of a dim lamp off in the corner. They glimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.

The woman arched up as her partner touched her. “Please, Tim,” she said, her voice full of need. She was beautiful in her hunger, raven hair cascading over the edge of the bed, her breath ragged, her eyes heavy-lidded with want.

The man beside her smiled and let his fingers skirt over the warmth of her tummy, drawing circles around her navel, to just above the dark patch of hair shrouding her womanhood. He bent over and let his tongue flick the delicate cup, wrenching a small gasp from her.

“Please what, Maya?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. He began to trail his mouth up towards her breasts. One hand, though, dipped between her spread thighs, dancing across the soft skin, avoiding her hot center.

She tugged on his hand, trying to draw it up to the part of her that ached to be touched, but he escaped her grasp effortlessly, and gave her a small grin. “Oh no,” he said. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

He rolled half on top of her. Neither of them noticed how the wind blowing through the window picked up speed, or how the breeze had suddenly grown much cooler, perhaps because he was busy assaulting her earlobe, then trailing a string of wet kisses down her throat. She moaned under his assault, oblivious.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder, startling them both. They froze, both looking toward the window. The first clap was followed by another. Lightning flashed nearby and for a split second illuminated the room, followed shortly afterwards by a loud boom.

“Damn,” he said, rolling off his wife. “Better get ready.” He grabbed at his boxers, tossed a blue gown in her direction, and pulled the sheet over them.

“Maybe...” she said, slipping into the garment.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the door. “Daddy! Daddy! The sky’s going boom!” said the voice of a small child. “I’m scared!”

“Maybe nothing, he said. He gave her one last, heated look. “You’re not out of it yet, though. We’ll finish this later.” He got up and walked to the door. “I’m coming, Bubby.”

“I hope so,” she said, and got ready to comfort her son.

Of Circles and Salt

Lissome
my touch
underneath the moonlight,
delicately tracing
circles
and curves.

Salty
your skin
wrapped in midnight shadow -
I taste you once
and then
taste you again.

Ragged
my breathing -
I cannot keep eyes open
sinking deeply
into
sensation.

Wordless
your cry -
reaching the peak,
we fall back
breathless
into the night.

Moonlit Homecoming

Light from the full moon
poured through their window,
and danced across her skin
as she lay there,
becoming reacquainted
with the texture of her bed.

Not alone, no.

The feel of his breath
warm against her moon-kissed skin
as his cheek caressed
the softness her neck
gave her goose bumps as he moved,
electric shivers.

She had missed it,
the way his arm wrapped around her
pulling her closely
in a safe circle, skin to skin,
his hard chest to her smooth back.

His fingers made lazy patterns
gleaming in the soft light
moving across her white thigh
before disappearing into shadow.

Closing her eyes when
his warm lips tasted her skin
she breathed deep
and knew, as she surrendered,
it was good to be home.

Warm Fire

I do not remember everything about that day
the day I tasted you for the first time,
felt the warmth of your tongue
dancing with mine,
the touch of your lips,
the heady sensation of my heart beating hard
as your hands explored
and my hands fumbled,
each kiss tumbling us closer
into that white hot heat
neither one of us wanted to step back from.

I remember your hat
and your vest,
and the shyness in your smile,
and how your hands felt on my breasts,
and the feel of my thighs wrapping around you,
and the bliss in your eyes -
yes, that look I remember best.

It's still there,
warm and friendly after all this time,
even after so many nights together -
I warm myself at its fire
and know that I am loved.

Foreplay Using 13 Words

Your lips,
sardonically knowing,
smirk
as you brush past my cheek.
I feel your breath
warm
scented with coffee
wrapping around me
as your hand dances across my skin,
your eyes
dominating mine
in that hot soulful gaze
that demands my surrender,
fingertips grazing
the mysteries of my body,
the soft touch
striking just the chord
you want
as you play me like a lute.

You kiss me
hard,
and with the blood pounding in my ears,
I turn off the light
and blanket myself with all of you.


Note: This poem came out of a challenge. A poet I know dared people to avoid a list of 13 words in writing their romantic poems, because they are often overused or used in cliche ways. I, being a horrid contrarian, had to write a poem that satisfied me using all 13 words in some form or another. The 13 words were: lips, breath, warmth, scent, touch, eyes, gaze, body, blood, finger(tip)s, skin, kiss, light.