Body Rhythms

I love female bodies. I love learning them. I love their softness and heat. Most of all…I love how they respond to me.

Every body speaks a dialect of a universal language; a language as versatile as it is beautiful.

There is a word for the sound of silk when firm hands tease cloth aside to expose skin; there is a word for the staccato thrust of bodies, the pounding of flesh in a rhythm the mind could never grasp but which bodies understand too well; there is a word for the friction of two naked humans bound so tight that limbs forget who they belong to; there is a word for the sound elicited by neck kisses so slight, they belong to whispers; and there is a word for those perfect bites – bites just hard enough that your nipples remember for them days.

And each shiver, each ragged breath, each moan – they are the prayers I answer with words spoken through fingers and lips.

***

I remember your curves.
They began along the small of your back,
And drew sight and sound along a path of naked skin
that glimpsed and beckoned me close

Tease, they whispered in the way they shifted, opening new lines, erasing old in the ever-changing landscape of heat and hunger.

Breath, they reminded as I froze, stilled by the beauty I found in the dance between my hands and your skin.

Promise, they offered in the lines of your hips and thighs.

Now, they pleaded in the way they began to shiver; my touch, with purpose and desire to know where each curve led, awakened your skin with promises of my own.

Yes, they cried when I found the center of the labryinthe, the secrets you hid so well but wanted to scream, finding release in the simple task of being set free.

Yes, I agreed as I laid my head against your chest and began anew.