STOLEN...

He’s not mine, I’m not his …
Yet the magnetic pull
Between us boggles the mind.
We make no sense
Outside of stolen moments
When hands grope for places
And things oft talked about
When clothing feels like prisons
When eye contact speaks volumes
And a touch transmits the sexual electricity
Between us – the current that shouldn’t be
Whispers of words that
Translate willingly into “Fuck me please”.
The scent of each other’s skin
The sound of our voices
The glimpse into each other’s thoughts
Thoughts consumed by the possibility
Of further stolen moments
When we consummate this mind blinding need
To sweetly fuck till the need subsides,
But it doesn’t…
To touch and to taste till there’s nothing new,
But yet there is …
There will always be a yen for
Stolen moments
Secret times, illicit sweetness
Blind release, and naughty, naughty musings…