PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It is hard to imagine a greater

or more independent spirit than this prowling, caterwaul feline who paw steps

straight from the jungle with French kisses sweeter than pecan pie, and breath

fresh as whipped cream. She captures me in the unmistakable seduction with her

tantalizing bedroom stare, swift as a pouncing kitten tackle, with green eyes

fascinating, thoughtful caresses, experienced purrs, and hot hungers teasing

me – driving me mad like a dripping faucet at midnight.

A penchant woman who naturally arches her back, making it difficult to ignore

my sprouting shaft, as I yield to replace her other mating rendezvous, and receive

her soft, furry touches that stimulate endorphins, tingle limbs, and

communicate her scratch ready, guarded trust as I placidly enter her untamed

meow-world of provocative language, spoken in exhaled murmurs and mostly

without words. Blending us together in a deep, intimate, all night Aquarian

moon song to quench our primitive thirsts and other erogenous yearnings.

My senses are groomed in anticipation of digesting her like a fine vegetable

garden, mounting her forest sage, rich  as emeralds and jade, cut by a master

jeweler. I surrender, seduced by the sight of the world’s finest wool, surrounded

by a mild, fish aged cheddar. She is also the smell of almond lotion on slippery

tanned thighs. My fantasy lavender bouquet, with warm candles flickering over

a still glowing fireplace; body in motion swimming bare through maple

syrup, making me wanting to consume her like oatmeal, sniffing her steaming,

fragrant moisture, and riding her naked through those sugary waves.

Her bedroom bucking has the force of a mythological lion flying into the North

wind, pushing me back solid as islands that formed after cooling her

plethora of volcanic fantasies. A time when she chased after unicorns vanishing

into memories of past adventures with madmen, cupid abusers, and other

limp Arabian Princes still hugging father time – wishing in vain upon the many

heaven’s stars for another chance to slip between her sheets, and explore this

lush Queen of Puss N’ Boots fairy tales, mistress of desire, poets, scholars,

and every X-rated Lolita novel ever written.

Between her limbs, chosen for a moment as the holder of her heart’s golden key

a prince of undressing, teammate in play, friend invited to invade her anatomical

wealth, a mind gleam to fondle and recall; like a pommel horse with  leather gone

memories. And so, affectionately drawn by her charms, I searched with each

unimagined, probing finger into the velvet joys within, finding a creamy, lather

designer – a prodigy who is her own destiny, euphoric architect of my risings,

and those other non-foaming, erogenous zoness. Tonight I shall be drafted to

become champion of her “organ of music,” prized philosopher and other refuge.

She is my whiskered canary snatcher, a deva who makes me wait in the shadows

of lavish contentment. Sitting patiently in muse, gazing into magic mirrors, hoping

to be summoned to her sweat lodge, so I may expose my wingless dwarf like a

a famed boy king – lay nude my soul as she tickles my fetishes, unleashes laughter,

weaknesses, and potential nightmares of poor bedroom performance that may cause

her wild cat to roam, roar into other moss bearded trees, and chase a hardier meal. Yet,

it is the awe of how wild and feral she is that makes a man take chances,

potentially winning a pirate’s hoard to hang over that lonely self portrait of Van Gogh.

Without such serendipity, lost hope, and lack of risk fade the excitement of loving

any roaming woman who stands between your hell and angels. Life could be

wickedly torturous or indeed pleasurably immense. Will fate make this orgasmic

froth be precious, spellbinding, faithful and the last? Or a black mounded hole

luring you uncontrolled into her spreading treasures, like a Venus Fly Trap

from which you will never escape? As you easily lose your will to resist; devoured

by many sexual obsessions that tease you to explode your sticky, as she conspires

to possess every inch of you, moving her parted, wet lips closer to suck all of you in.

Until she finally gives her approval to spill your seed into her delicately smooth,

wide open, mesmerizing pink flower. Oh, oh, my Goddess!