©Your Kiss
Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved
I protest.
Your lips
are much to mobile
as they
graze over mine; they’re
too warm
and too hungry. My
shoulder
rises, not with rejection
to the
way your lips lay claim—
possessively,
blatantly, tantalizingly—
but in
defense of my sensibilities,
which I
seem to lose as those twins
press that
sensitive place under my
ear and
onto nape as they seek a
favorable
response, as they cause my
knees fold,
making them unable to
hold me
erect under your mouth’s
continued
incendiary demonstration.
I demur.
It ‘s
never been my experience
to lose
control of my breath, not
until
your mouth would accept
nothing
but submission from
mine,
until I accepted the promise
of a
conflagration so intense
it would
promise to consume me,
seize my
lungs in a grasp of
desire beyond
words, beyond thought,
beyond
heaven. And when your tongue
found its
sheath in my throat,
my world
fell away, the room
ceased to
exist, and there was
only us
locked together in some
unrelenting
drive to assuage a
passion
suddenly more powerful
than the
two of us.
My hands
cavil.
Shocking
me, they take purchase
of your
cheeks to maintain our
mouths in
bondage while I attempt
to rein
in my desire; but, instead, I
lose what
little clarity I’d retained.
Ensnared
by the white heat of lust,
objections
to your copious kisses,
which trail
paths from shoulder to
bosom, transform to ash. I quell an
unhelpful,
appreciative shiver.
Breathing...it’s
now a secondary
consideration;
what breath I
manage to
draw comes from you.
All propriety
is lost when your
onslaught
continues; any will
to resist
your predatory smile
is
vanquished as you devote long moments
to
showing me — to lay before me
a
landscape of what is to come —
I
respond, gasping into the kiss.
I let my
reins go.
I am
yours.
I
surrender.
