Opening my soul,
the petals of its
soft, pink, silken flesh
become a mirror,
beckoning all and any
to the gateway of my swollen, naked heart.
how does the honeybee suckle,
approaching with a mask of raw intention,
innocent, but for the ravaging purpose
it knows only, yet again, to – here – ensue
. . . and so it does.
My blushing fortress sways and tempts:
in you float,
in pregnant pause
to share my perfumed freedom
as I blossom
with your tongue inside my lap.
Crush me, not, but leave me torn
– yet, just as gentle.
Your organic levitation swells my fancy.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 16 May, 2012