You said my eyes were the night,
an inky dark you could safely swim in,
yours are akin to the silver moon,
the everlasting radiant night drawing near.

Before you even touch,
all I sense is the tension,
a palpable electric essence,
the proximity is sweetly torturous,
but you are not made of stone. 

You want to see how much we can take, 
where our thresholds will truly lie. 

It begins and will end with a featherlight touch, 
you draw softly on this bare skin, 
leaving me branded beneath
with intricate, invisible cursive lines,
mysterious calligraphy finally made flesh 

Until I finally break...

Your veins bound against my tongue,
neck exposed and beyond vulnerable,
as fingers disappear between wet folds
to know where your true pulse quickens, 
I only pause when you get close. 

To near such an exquisite edge, 
only to have it so suddenly torn away, 
to see your eyes pleading and know 
that you are not made of stone. 

Before you even take me, 
all I feel is the tension, 
a palpable electric essence 
as I'm devoured by the animal
tasting my needy flesh. 

You no longer fight the impulse 
to pull me deep into your hot throat, 
tongue encircling this throbbing head
in the shape of your own name, 
seeing how much it can take, 
where my threshold will truly lie. 

It begins and will end with a featherlight touch, 
a tongue lapping a hard bare length 
until I can't fight the inevitable explosion, 
a thumb caressing the smallest bud 
in the shape of your own name, 
a beautiful signature coated in wetness 
to make a river of nectar finally pour.... 

We are not made of stone. 

The world calms in featherlight touches,
fingertips draw along skin still quivering, 
invisible ink signing where pulses bound, 
mysterious calligraphy soothing flesh. 

You said there are galaxies in my eyes
that have become a dancing flame, 
if yours are the glowing moon, 
together we make a beautiful eclipse.