The air is delectable with your fragrance,
a nectar's mist that draws me closer
to your tingling curves and planes.

This is before we sizzle,
when your scent teases,
leaves me hungry with intention,
with eyes tracing patient flesh,
swollen petals that ache to flood.

But you always take time,
slowly sending little electric bolts
to nerves that shiver in time
with our synced pulses

As my lips taste the mysterious
wines concealed in your kiss,
as the tremor of anticipation
races over us like a second skin.

This is before muscles turn to jelly
and my ears throb with moans
when lips nuzzle against your neck,
the curve along your shoulder,
the peaks and valleys flaring all over.

The air is perfumed with desire
to be savored on a thirsty tongue's tip,
a planetary journey across flesh and electricity,
molten sparks igniting along a secret continent
that you sheathe around me like a second skin.

This is right before storms roar though us,
when anticipation becomes a blissful mad rush,
an exquisite point of no return
when you clench around an unstoppable explosion.