PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Midnight journey on a motorcycle, leather pants, button fly jeans,

tie-dyed T- shirt and flowing white lace; vibrating horsepower, back

roads, dunes, dark green grass, Spanish moss, a picnic basket with Godiva

truffles, fuzzy organic peaches, red seedless grapes, savant cheese you

purchased with a name I could not pronounce, French champagne,

three joints, and chocolate covered cherries you popped between

two kisses, so I could clobber the juice dripping down your jaw.

Your hair hopping on my face in the wind, teasing me softly, like dainty

movements of a Bolshoi ballerina, delicate form, flashing eyes, a fantasy

prettiness that is the personification of a Tchaikovsky symphony, and can

blaze a candle’s reflection at night. Flickering street lights around corners

as I accelerated faster to make you hold on tight, as you beg me to slow

down with your sweet, bendable whispers that are temporarily ignored

because I loved the way your fingers dug into my navel.

Remember, it was a warm, visually sensual, but sticky July evening

when we rode to the coast, until we suddenly arrived, sweating, to park my

new excitement, an outburst blue Harley Sportster I stood in the ebb washed,

gritty dirt. We stripped down to bare skin, clothes flung to the zodiacs, just

yards from the shore; wading in, laughing, high as a hawk, before diving

into the waves that crashed against our nude bodies like a tantalized, cascade

tease. I sucked the salt on your earlobes, as we both wandered further out.

I looked at you intensely, warm, balmy water drawing a liquid bra to cover

your breasts; starring at your nipples in awe when the surf momentarily subsided

to reveal my own longing and envy. We advances to licking lips, swirling tongues,

as the circle of an inviting, big yellow moon looked down upon us, directing

my racing heart, with your approval, to a tropical path, where I held your hand

and ran naked like a little boy with two bouncing balls into the sandy bed sheets,

where you lay down beneath me in anticipation of lovemaking under the stars.

Holding one another we drifted like seaweed, deeper into a safari through

a wilderness surrounding the beach. As if a shark my perpendicular fin engraved

your figure like an emancipated artist performing for his meal. Our mouths turned

our salvia into an ambrosia of sweetened taste. You wrapped your legs around me

and I strapped you on carefully as a life jacket, trusting and snug because we both

forgot a condom. The fermented churning turned into a bouquet that stimulated

me to move in unison with the ocean surges, so I pushed and went in deep.

The propelling drives seemed to last for hours, ending in a waterfall gush, finished

with a trickle. I could feel your kneading vagina, squeezing the last few droplets

of my soul into you, sliding down to survey your caverns, as I rode the crescents

you formed with your arching back. Until suddenly the dawn strikes, a solar fireball

ascended in the heavens to shout good morning. It was going to be a bright, bright,

sunshiny day, as we lit up some reefer, and gazed at whitecaps encased in an aura

of total freedom. What scenery, what love, what a trinity of boisterous passion.