Monday Poem: Cunning

[Every Monday (until I run out of them), I’m posting a poem of mine that has fallen out from the submission process for some reason. In most cases, it will be one where I’ve received no response to my submission for at well over a year or more. Maybe the magazine I submitted them to has folded, the submission was lost in the post, or whatever. So, these poems can be seen as lost, orphans, of uncertain status, or something like that.]

These poems are also posted to ABCTales.

Cunning

A roundness of curving and taut
skin stretched tight and neat
round from the curved bottom
between the opening thighs.

A warm heartbeat of a place
snuggled deep in its forest hide.
It waits, ready to wake and open
like a flower to the sun's touch.
It waits like an eager princess
for the magic of a kiss.

A tongue to tease along the folds,
to open for the journey inside.
A moistness, juicy as summer fruit,
a taste of all the seas of dreams,
a taste of sweat and sweetness.

Deeper inside, on the way back
to the place of all beginnings,
then the return out and upward
to tease the shy retiring bud
that promises and, hesitantly,
will deliver, if treated well.

The legs clench, tight as a promise
pulling deeper, deeper inside
demanding a deeper desire.
A shudder shivers a deeper sigh
tension paused, stiff arching.

Then a slow easing deflation
and that one final lingering kiss
that reawakens a quiescent desire.