An Epic – Soon?

Such wonder you inspire,
You are quite the phenomenon,
That my mind races,
Scrambled, shaken and stirred,
As I marvel at what you inspire,
That I may aspire,
To you,
For these words,
That my childlike innocence,
My internal Peter Pan,
Is transformed,
Desirous of adult only diversions,
And so it shall be,
That together we shall scribe,
Tales more sumptuous than the Marquis,
More sensual,
My quill and your body,
Combining into an epic,
That repeats with every thought,
That repeats each time we kiss,
How do I yearn to tickle your lips anew,
Such that when beard fades into insignificance,
As it surely must,
You can recall,
The way it made you feel,
Physically and internally,
Each time my hand touches you,
The searing excitement of all the moments,
Between then and now,
Imagining you as I do,
I as you do,
Every inch of you a canvas,
Every inch of you a page that I shall fill,
Upon which I shall write my masterpiece,
Will you be my masterpiece
For the very thought of you,
Alights in me a passion that is more powerful than a million suns,
A fervor I’ve only known,
As I write my tomes,
Mistress Fate and Lady Destiny,
How they can be both fickle and profoundly kind,
In this case,
Naturally, it is kind,
Reminding me of the lost treasure of desire,
The all compelling allure of a simple embrace,
Such that in my mind,
And one day soon I implore of you,
Our romantic interludes are interlaced,
With moments of lascivious rapture,
At moments gentle and tender,
At others,
Well you can imagine,
Where in my mind,
Each touch of your flesh,
Scorches my soul,
Burning excitement,
An erotic deity of my own enjoyment,
As directed by your pleasures,
May I be your pleasure,
The jubilant decadence in which you bathe,
These words,
Reward for the ultimate reemergence of Phoenix,
And out of these ashes,
Are born these delights,
How do I delight in the thought of you,
The mere thought of you,
Such enchantments that when in your arms,
Nothing else exists,
Nothing else matters,
Nothing but you,
As now,
In this moment,
Thoughts of you,
Bring on memories of transcendental bliss,
Those are as yet unwritten,
From something as simple as your smile,
The subtle curvature of your face,
Dalliances into your eyes,
Peering into you,
Savoring every inch,
From your little toe,
To the crease of your elbow,
That my body alive,
Dances at the convenience of your advances,
Always left hungering for more,
And there is more,
For these advances are not the frivolous affairs,
Of children at play,
Much more at work,
Behind the curtain of our own understanding,
Do we understand,
Can we know,
Are you the Wizard,
Is this Oz,
For surely I have followed the yellow brick road,
And the trials and tribulations of my life,
Have led,
In the now,
To you,
Like lovesick teenagers,
Suspended in time,
May it always seem so heavenly,
The awaiting climax of pheromones,
The untold,
The sacred,
The secret of the divine,
Revealed in each zealous suggestion realized,
Your touch,
My touch,
Our touches,
Deft and daft,
Each like a shot of ambrosia,
Straight to the neurons firing,
Our synapses alighting a magical consent,
Your voice,
Sending shivers down my spine,
As all I can think of,
Is the pivotal moment,
That together our bodies dance,
Less ballroom,
More tango,
Like celestial angels,
Found in each other,
If only for those deliciously seething moments,
In each touch,
As Whitman said;
“And your very flesh shall be a great poem.”
Shall we write together?
An epic poem?



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