His hands have memorised the mountains of my shape,

The stretches on the caves that only home visiting fingertips,

He is use to the dances the base of me makes,

My morning songs peeping through the moon’s light,

A yearning of his tenderness roughly seducing my neck,

I let little screams loose from my breath, hoping he’ll tighten his grip

That’s between my legs,

We ride this wave, both the sober and the high,

Holding onto the safety of our palms as we reach for peaks,

That mesmerises our pupils, springing back and forth from their rims,

He pounds and my heart follows, keeping the pace sync

Again; he drums on me and my spine curls in his direction

Taking my head to pull,

Leaping from clutch, my mouth becomes a sink as he washes himself clean,

Letting our joy roll down my oesophagus, once again,

He embraces me,

His body thanks me for my essence