In the heights of intimate moments they share sacred secrets, pouring out the depths of themselves in truly loving sentiments; kissing and holding each other in sweet caress, and acknowledging long held concealed emotions to which they both whisperingly and sincerely with tears confess.
The sweetness of lips — the lust that drips — the moans that ensue when strong hands firmly hold black lace over hips — the unintended release of long held intimate secrets. Fuchsia polished pedicured toes in clear stiletto heels peeking through black stockings, ripped — the thickness, length and hardness of what she sits — the way she intensely gives oral pleasure on her knees as she rubs her clit. It is always just before climax comes that she whispers, Oh shit — it is always after an emotive fucking that he gives her a passionate kiss — after the pleasure, a mental replay of everything erotic.
Retrospectively, I search diligently past beauty to see in an angel the folded wings that others could not see. Within femininity there are several mysteries that keep a woman’s sacred secrecy, like rare diamonds in the earth that men search for endlessly but will never find; through wondrous eyes, I see angels gliding high in that place from where the twilight shines. To not know and taste the essence of a woman, is to not know the ultimate beauty and wonder of creation — strands of hair blow against her face, and I know that she was beauteous from her inception. She is crowned with stars that touch the heavens; I dreamt of kissing her in white linen. I dreamt that we lost each other and then found each other again. I envisioned that she rescued me from that dark place where pain doesn’t end. With her wings folded under clothing they can’t see the profoundness of her true beauty, but I see; with wondrous eyes I see. With a celestial glow she smiles at me, and in her smile, there is loving eternity and divine destiny that whispers to me.
When we cry together, know that I am your protector, lover and strong shoulder forever. Never forget, that when it storms I am your shelter. The depths of love have shown me secret paths that have transformed my once hardened heart and have made me better. I mean every word in every vow made to you, down to the letter. I was broken; so shattered — I sought healing through many sexual encounters, but there was still an emptiness, though I had many lovers. True intimacy is so much more than fleshly pleasure. I held you and kissed you the first night. I admit, that I wanted you, but a beautiful transcendency took a hold of me, and unexpectedly I uttered through a sincere whisper, Let’s just talk more and get to know each other. I listened intently to your life story as we lied together, and you moved me like no other. Baby, I swear you moved me like no other. It was then that my soul stirred within me, and I said to myself silently, I love her; I truly love her.
Hours after, the pleasure still lingers — she can still feel him inside her, the perfect size of him, the continuous throbbing. Again, she wants to fuck him, so she’ll think about the way he sucked and teased her erect sensitive nipples as she rode him; then close her eyes, open her legs wide, and slowly start rubbing until there is a wet explosion, screaming, heavy breathing, and irrepressible shuddering after she whispers his name again and again.
Flames of passion brighten
as twilight waves rush in,
in the evening, there is kissing,
sweet caress, and heaving breathing.
When the darkness finally comes,
there will be sounds of moaning
and the excitement of different positions
that quench the emotions of longing—
a full moon contrasting white sand
against the aesthetic of shimmering skin;
in nakedness after ecstasy, wine glasses
will be filled with sweet Moscato again,
and two lovers will hold each other
with tears of indescribable joy,
in gentle ocean winds.
She remembers everything; the deep sucking, the hair pulling, the flood that came after a thorough licking — a hard and relentless fucking, how she rode him on a wooden chair and wildly kissed him; how wet she becomes every time they begin, how he moaned when she told him that she loved him, how she positioned herself with her face in the pillows so he could deeply enter in and how loud she gets when she rubs her clit and so badly misses him.
In the last moments, the release is so fucking intense. From ten, there is a countdown to climax — the thrusts, deep, hard, and fast. By seven, the erotic whispers resume to make the pleasure last. By five, a pause ensues and the whispers cease. On three, there is an explosion of ardent release. After, the evidence of euphoria is soaked into satin sheets. In another hour, there will more passionate fucking, and near the end, the concupiscent countdown from ten will begin again.
Curved pink satin gracefully floats in heavenly motion — white embroidered lace hovering over like a full moon, its soft light highlighting pink roses in beautiful evening bloom. In white, an angel moves, her fluidity like heaven’s poetry read consistently by circles of archangels in golden rooms. Invisible wings lift her, her arms extended on each side like the branches of oak trees after a winter’s slumber in spring breezes that come alive. She dances delicately with an indescribable beauty inside; her heart carrying her across the vastness of oceans in each wondrous motion. Seven stars are her crown, smiling beautifully in a transcendency from which she will never come down.
Intimate Compositions 