The Sounds Of The Night |
| by The Unknown Poet |
Passions revealed,
desires sedated,
never once believed,
such pleasures awaited.
Romance claimed lost,
desire now greed,
no estatic long nights,
just fullfilling a need.
But with lingering glances,
on satin smooth skin,
through the night we languish,
in the erotica of skin.
A candle lit dinner,
alone to test our will,
champaine on ice ,
inhibitions to chill.
A fire in the hearth,
our only light,
yet hold back the urges,
as passion fills the night.
Caressing your hair,
a masage designed to please,
your breathing grows soft,
a sensual tease.
Lips finally meet,
so tender and hoping,
tounges intertwine,
searching not groping.
Finger tips trace,
from your neck down your spine,
awakening nerves the pleasure ,
devine.
Cloths whisper as they fall to the floor,
bringing pleasure in the skin they show,
no rush no hurry all night,
to take it slow.
A trail of kisses,
the soft backs of knees,
bodys aching yearning,
eager to please.
By the light of the fire,
two bodys join in an ancient rite,
as soft moans of pleasure,
become the sounds of the night.
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