Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: On The Morrow

©On The Morrow

Mona Arizona, October 2014

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

  

When we meet on

the morrow,

make love to me.

Slowly .

If it takes until tomorrow,

I don't care.

Begging, please, make

my body do

things I never knew that you could,

knew you could...

Over and over until we lose count

of how many times you make me come.

Let me be your

siren

drawing you

close to me

closer

while we kiss and I quote Byron.

Old friend,

sweet lover,

you don't have to

hold back,

you don't have to be shy;

we will have the time of our lives.

Scoop me into

your embrace,

fist my long,

chestnut hair,

and kiss the breath from me

as though

no one

exists except

for us;

nip my earlobe with your

teeth and send shivers down my spine.

Nudge my thighs

apart

with you knee;

cup my mound;

swallow

my hissing breath.

I want your demanding mouth

claiming my parted lips and my

naked body that will strain toward yours.

Dragging

your wicked

fingers over

my moist,

sensitive part,

then sinking them into

the tight depths

will elicit moans,

will make me quiver,

will make my world splinter.

Your deep,

guttural moans will

rumble against

my mouth as it

grinds against

yours. Let your hips jerk

upwards and desperately

plunge into my pleading depths

until your own rugged cries

hang in the air.

(painting by u2ro)