Your fingers, tipsy and hesitant,
Run their drunken paths down my chest;
Anticipation erupts in delicious trails
Where soon your skin will flow.
Barely touched, scarcely felt,
It all blooms over me, mindful of delights.
And once more comes the tide.
Slow and steady it unfolds and retreats
Until the storm of twirls and swirls and scrapes
Carves circles of pleasures all the way to my soul.
Then once more calm falls over my pulsating back.