Music's pounding. The vibrations are ravaging my body from the inside out — heart and sound become one. We do not hear anything
but the rhythm of the drumming within our ears, (the tapping of our toes on solid ground), and yet, even with this cacophony of sound,
she whispers my name like it's a secret that she's begging to keep hers.

So quietly, that I have to read those glistening cherry lips with all my concentration.

I yearn to feel those quivering lips grace mine, but I am patient and, besides, soft hands find no hesitation while creeping up shirts.
It’s quite the delicious distraction from the way our ragged breaths mingle and pollute the air with sweetly forbidden scents.

Being with her is like standing within inches of a lethal electrical current; nerve endings were smoking and I was mersmerised, always
drawn to connect.

She'd not hesitate to devour me whole, and upon completion, revel in her in-immaculate victory. Yet her self control spells for even more
torture. These slow, intentional moves only add fuel the fire, and perhaps, it’s her intention to build me to a thrashing crescendo.

She laps at my curves while locked in an arc-- yielding an intense, euphoric polyphony of limbs.
I hover between two unknowns: taking pleasure in anticipation as she meets the corner of my lips, or maybe my hips, with the edges of
her fingertips.

I don't know how much more I can take of her sonic morphine mouth; anesthetizing with every kiss but keeping me alive for ever.
Her mouth is dangerous-- more than a mouth ought to be when it inches closer to the place it needs to, but should not, be.

The sound around us is lost in our heartbeats, as our drum-like fingertips become the beat to the song that we've been playing.
Our instrument: a lust-filled body arc sustained by a gluttonous appetite.

We inch so delicately, so deliberately to a succulent, seductive insanity.