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From: Grumbles <grumbles@juno.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Poem: First, Last {grum}{MF Rom}
Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2000 09:10:00 -0500
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This is copyright grumbles@juno.com, don't steal it or I'll beat you up.
"First, Last"
Watching, from afar,
night sky: the pale moon
casts midnight hued shades
over the gravel lane.
A picnic, caught
by nightfall, no lights
or houses for miles,
heavy, warm, summer air.
Black leaves, the damp smell
of earth and faint perfume
wafts to a hiding place.
A pair of young lovers.
Quiet voices,
carried on the wind,
muffled from distance
their words, no consequence.
Alone in their world,
drowning in each other,
they lay unaware of
their silent companion.
Emotions they pour
over, into each other,
trust and adulation,
feeding their open hearts.
Trembling hands, bated breath,
lost in forever
they comfort the cries
of each other's souls.
Broken and grasping,
blind hearts cling to threads
of hope, escape, all
the future memories.
They lie together
on a purloined sheet;
they lie to each other,
hearts that fool the mind.
The cicadas sing,
sweetly to the pair
sharing a final night
under the heavens.
The stars' soft crystal light
shines down over coupled
forms, fearful touches
daring to explore.
Clothing removed slowly,
ritual robes,
the newest priests of
the oldest rite.
Trembling hands worship
young cool flesh, virgin
to all but this moment.
Enraptured faces.
The moon-cast blue tint
on radiant skin
reveals in the darkness
white skin, black hair.
Her hair on the blanket
frames her pale breasts and
the triangle between
her open, silken thighs.
On his side, his form
arcs with lithe muscles,
manhood jutting from
between his thick legs.
Reaching out, a caress
travels her being,
he revels in the touch
of her close body.
Her breath catches
in her throat, warm hands
whisper across her skin
exploring her glory.
His hand delves into
her unfolding flower,
the motion young, hasty,
she stops him, guides him.
Her hand on his, moves
softly hidden from view,
the arc of her back
tells all: her pleasure.
Again, she stops him,
she reaches, stops, reaches
again, enfolding
his shaft with cool hands.
She strokes, new textures
shared pleasure, too much.
He arches, shudders,
her thigh drips with him.
He speaks, but his words
don't carry, but the tone
speaks of chagrin, regret,
he steps back, away.
She follows, stays with him,
her arm finds his shoulder,
once, twice, and it stays,
she holds him, murmurs.
Minutes pass, time given
without expectation.
A turning, bodies
move together. A kiss.
He turns, embraces her,
the strength of youth, renewed
vigor flows through him,
his hardness visible.
She leads him, pulls him
down to the blanket,
holds him against her,
her legs around him.
Her hand disappears,
between their bodies,
searching, stroking,
she guides them in union.
Slowly, by inches,
they join together.
At last, rear dimpling,
they lay completed.
Her pain grips him, fingers
pressing his back,
motionless, desire
remains suspended.
Conquering, slowly,
desire forces its way
past fleeting pain,
brief innocence.
She surrenders,
his control slips, wavers,
their eyes meet, lock, hold
crashing together.
The faint sounds of their
coupling, ragged breathing
fills the clearing, they
slowly meet and release.
Thrusting, needfully,
their pace rises, each
moving in unison,
seeking union.
Her cry rings out, echoes
in the silence,
she pulls him in her,
opening fully.
His shout follows closely,
he flows into her,
joins her, completes her,
and they collapse.
Watching, from afar,
night sky: silence fills
the clearing, sounding
bare whispers--"I love you"
--
If you liked this, drop me a line. My e-mail box doesn't fill up yanno.
--
The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is
the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and
true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no
longer marvel, is as good as dead.~Albert Einstein
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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