Lady of the Night

59 sec read

Giovanni Boldini (1842–1931) — Mademoiselle de Nemidoff

Wandering in wonder.
All sense of self abandoned.
All restraints cast off.
Feeling only your heart against mine,
as if there were no skin between.
One breath.
Desire’s light kindled within our cupped and eager hands.

There are times when imagination fails, when only the pure and sensual will do. Times when desire crests and the rush of it propels us forward, desperate for fulfilment and so longing for it to slow, flow back, build again.

I imagine the sweet taste of you on my lips, imagine the deep tremors through you as you clench and release, my hand on your belly to feel as the diviner does, the currents deep within.

The tightness in your thighs as you strain, lifting me with you, your hands in my hair pulling me in deeper.
Sliding friction free,
radiant in love’s free fall.
In rapture held, with the velvet constraints of lust enchained.

Delighting in your desire, leaning back to take in your beauty, moving up slowly, slowly, until the tip of me parts your lips, and holding there.
Feeling the stretch, the fit,
knowing what will follow,
knowing the sheer delight of loving you,
but waiting.
Waiting, to see who will give in first to lust,
who will lead and, oh, then to follow
so there is no separation only the melding heat of liquid fire and the joining, no gap, no break,
filled and filling.

Watching like a hunter, for your eyes to reveal the shift,
a sudden brightness, a shimmer of delight.
For the promises and incantations through parted lips.
For the lovers’ knot we tie to bind us.

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