The Dance Fingers dance on naked flesh Questing, searching Conjuring sighs Like a sorcerer raising the dead Moving slow, I touch your breast Wanting, needing Love in my eyes Coaxing your nipple to erection In bliss, you move beneath me Trembling, gasping Spreading your thighs Inviting me to venture further And so, my dear, I take you Rubbing, stroking Hearing your cries Pushing you to the edge of madness The end is fast approaching Coming . . . coming There are no lies In the words I speak when you arrive Fingers dance on naked flesh Loving, caring The passion dies Leaving glowing embers in its wake