Lust/Heat
It's hot.
That moment when you float past all consciousness is hot.
Hot.
Hot.
The sensation crawls up along your side, tickles your rib cage.
You feel it on your chest, bringing the air out of your lungs to mingle and merge.
It's on your neck now, the tracing of circles.
Shiver as it reaches your cheek and finally brushes that one stray hair off your face.
You feel like an angel floating above the heavens.
But the heat brings you back down.
Down.
Down.
To the hot and sinful paradise of your sensational actions.
The heat likes to pool.
In your stomach, it's going to burst.
You have to have the Touch, feel it against your skin. Against your lips.
Let it do what it does well and pull hot breath out of you again.
Craving the heat that blinds you so much you see little else.
Think little else other than the pleasure it
Drives you crazy. Nails scratch if only barely.
Pull closer, beg, and you'll get more.
More.
More.
You breathe out your desires and it grants your wish like an angel from above
Hearing your desperate prayer.
Of it's hot.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
PoetryTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
