You stand at
the side of the pond like a swan, your shape reflected in the cool evening
water.
And I ache all
over.
The fire in me
is as hot as the pond water cool.
It is something
about you, some mysterious suggestion in the way you stand, your shape
silhouetted against the slowly seeking evening statuesque.
Perhaps it is
this place, filled with the soft colors of stirring reeds, each swaying inside
of me, in the slow rhythm of entwined limbs – my limbs with yours, my pain
easing slowly inside of you like a stiff wind erupting.
You don’t know
me. I don’t know you except for seeing you here, but I crave for a glance –
some sign that you see me standing erect here, some clue that you recognize the
rising fire you inspire.
Yet if you
look, I do not see it, and this only makes me ache more.
I am a man full
of dark and secret passions, a mounting tempest of the unreleased, I need
to release in you, but do not know how.
Or how to make
you take notice as you stroll, goddess like among the egrets and sea gulls that
fill this glad, leaving me to make a study of your breasts and thighs, my mouth
watering for a taste of you.
Although we
seem alone here, I know we are not, as others – many in pairs – stroll along
the path, lovers with a promise of love making ahead of them, glowing in the
dim sun the way I see you glow.
I refuse to
give up, strolling behind you as you move slowly along the pond side.
I need to be
near you, need for you to acknowledge me, to touch me, to entwine our limps
like the reeds.
I would settle
for a kiss, though I know this would never be enough, a taste of wine that
would make the ache in me worse not better, inspiring the desire to make love
to you again and again and again, and still not have the passion spent.
But a kiss
would let me breathe some of myself into you and you into me, our tongues
teasing each other as to what other parts we might play inside each other.
My mind is so
caught up in this, I don’t see until almost too late the glance you give me.
Not at me
directly, but rather, my reflection in the water, your soft lips parting in
what might be a smile, daring me to take the next step.
I move towards
you, every part of me brimming with fire nothing short of all of you will
quench.
I follow behind
you, a needy hound, panting over your scene, desperate to lay you down and
spread you open so I might plunge right in.
Perhaps you
even let me catch up, lingering a little nearer the exposed roots at the pond
side so that I come up behind you so that for a moment our reflections overlap
and seem to embrace.
I ask for a
kiss.
You laugh and ask,
“Is that all you want?”
“Am I so easy
to read?” I ask.
You simply
smile.
Sunset glistens
on the water giving our reflections an amber glow, my shape easing closer to
your shape, my mouth settling onto yours, hesitating for a moment, a jolt of
lust leaping through me like lightning, my ache so intense I am shocked no arc
of it comes off of me and into you, even when our lips touch.
This is no
violent act, though it takes all of my will to keep my tongue from plunging
deep into you the way I ache to do elsewhere.
Still my
fingers steal up as my palm curls around your breasts, tendering cupping it.
Are my hands
cold?
Is that why you
tremble?
Is this the
reason your nipples grow so stiff beneath my touch.
But it is not
enough, and soon, my fingers ease open the button on your blouse, feeling my
way into the darkness in search of flesh, each layer pealing away like the skin
of an onion’s until at last my fingers feel the tip. My fingers circle it
slowly.
This is still
not enough, and my mouth leaves your mouth and moves to where my fingers have
been, my lips circling the stiffened tip, my tongue slowly circling it before I
softly suck.
Footsteps sound
on the path approaching us.
A couple
appears out of the trees followed by a dog.
We part for the
moment, although your blouse remains open. The couple passes.
You move on
along the shore to a more secluded spot where a small lawn his hidden by the
trees, and I follow like an overheated pup.
I reach you,
press myself against your back, letting you feel all of me as I feel all of
you, with me hoping the same pain that grows intense between my legs grows
between yours as well.
You make no
move.
You just wait.
I turn you around;
kiss you, this time more passionately, allowing my tongue to press into you.
“Lay down,” I
say.
“On the
ground?” you ask.
I take off my
coat and lay it over the grass. You lie down.
My fingers
tremble as I lift your skirt,
Sunset is heavy
over the pond so I feel your moisture rather than see it as I ease off the last
layer and you lay open before me, an invitation so grand I can hardly breathe.
My hands move
up your thighs until my fingers find the folds of flesh. I want to touch you,
make it last, first with my fingers then my tongue, but I ache too much to
taste you, and move my mouth up to where my fingers were, and slowly work
around you with the tip, pealing you away until I reach the tenderest part.
I ache so much
and feel my own need pressing against my zipper, but I won’t give in, your
taste flowing into me creating a whole different fire.
I let the tip
of my tongue circle the spot where your heat grows, easy, slow, nothing too
abrupt, forcing tenderness when I am about explode, then letting my tongue
plunge into the dark cavity so I might taste the depths of you.
The wind blows
leaves onto my back.
Somewhere in
the harbor, a ship moans as it passes under the bridge seeking safe harbor in
the port across the bay.
I moan, too,
feeling like a ship that has been adrift as sea my whole life, my tongue the
life line into you, while I ache to deposit my cargo into your old.
I feel you
shiver.
The sun blinks
out.
Cold comes. I
pull away.
Our reflections
have faded from the water.
You say it is
time for you to go.
I ask if I will
see you again
You say, “You’d
better. You have to finish what you started.”
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