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