Tonight
When, my
fingers searching,
I whisper in your ear
it doesn't mean what last night
it meant:
the pressure of the skies
demanded a venting; tonight
I need to go it slow.
Slide my
fingers along the fur
of your stomach chills,
saliva cooled.
That taut
canyon of muscle
channels my tongue to
damper ravines.
Could you
lick and kiss me yes--
this is the sensation.
Here is my gasp.
We have
become of eachother one;
this fluid is our snowmelt.
by Jason Paul Fox
poem,
illusration and web page by JASON PAUL FOX
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me
and don't make money off it)
copyright
2007 Jason Paul Fox
