jimon-jito

An imagined fire
    heating like the sun
    borrowing the soul;
    sweating with touch,
    coveting the heat
    instead of the warmth.

Lingering
    beneath the surface
    with satin possibilities;
    hidden expectations
    waiting like a match
    for a surface strike
    not knowing if
    it will ignite a flame.

Hands leaving a trace
    of want,
    a smell of pepper
    sensing the naked skin.

This pull caresses
    a moment’s sigh;
    an imagined grind,
    a seeking ache,
    a moist breathing
      in refrain.

She opens her eyes
    to close them again.

He joins the feast.

I smell the texture of her skin
   hear the weight of her voice
   the slight movement
   her body makes
   as it slants toward the warmth.

A touch sings gentle
   then intense
   approaching her waist.

The lips close and then open
   breathing in the last point
   of restraint.

Red heat and then white
   separate then liquid
   flowing then cooled
   reformed then settled
   into a different space.

An elegant dance
   wrapped in shyness
   blanketed by mystery
   raw as exposed life.