Erotic Poetry Hub / Erotic Poetry / You Don't Need Love to Make Love

You Don't Need Love to Make Love

by thesexweaver 01/13/18

It is said your body is a temple,
But yours is my object of reverence.
It stands sacred in my mindscape
In the midst of desires dark and sensuous.
The contours of your face
Inspires passions to flare high -
If I could take your lips between mine
I know I would taste elixirs from eternity.
Or let my lips traverse down,
The cliffs and vales of your neck
Leaving trails of secret sin
Only you could see, when the morning lights.

I'd ask before taking off your clothes,
For I am the humble worshipper,
Showing my devotion and kowtow
To you, o mortal divinity!
Because you are someone I care for,
And trust with inifinte definiteness.
Thus, why should I not ask from you
If you'd want to trust your temple to me?

But with your yes, I cast your clothes off
And begin a journey of discovery -
My hands are ships looking to anchor
On the silken expanse of your crafted body;
Now my fingers would cup your breasts
And squeeze them, out of sheer pleasure
As my lips hover over your ears
And utter your name, in audible whispers.
Now your nipples would be taut, showing
How much you might be craving more:
I'd oblige my sucking your breasts one by one
And won't delay in crossing over to your desire's shore.

Now my lips leaves its traces
Wherever I leave my touch,
But we both know, mere caresses
Won't be just enough.
My teeth bury down on your skin
While my tongue paints frescoes
Of what could come hereafter
If we remain together, remain close.
I can sense your warmth, radiating
From the heavens that your legs guard,
We both know what needs to be done
And what should be done, in this regard.

I soread your legs, wide
Caressing the velvet of your inner thigh
As you reveal the dampness running
Away from the warmth of your loins.
Your clit throbs, beating with your heart
As the pleasure begins to bedazzle you,
I let my tongue swirl around it
And my fingers, come and go in its art
To make you moan, to take you to paradise too.

Nothing much remains now, our passions
Require consummation without delay,
Our gasping bodies would be wrapped
Against each other, in the tightest of an embrace.
Our hips would gyrate in maddened motion
While your sharp nails scar my back,
That would mark me jolts of pain
And filled with your escalating desires.
My worship would complete itself
As we both climax above the clouds
And then come down crashing hard
On our own bodies, coming around -
To another bout of kissing between us
And tongue wrestling for dominance.

But you would win, beloved
For you are my existence's eminence.

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