Just a taste...

My fever dream is a bit of blues that ain't nothin but a poetic cry off a poetic high.  Awaken the memory of it unto life...for just a taste...

"Tell my your fever dream..." So says the herald...

Her skin shows signs of life as I grab her thigh makin my way up.  Grabbing excellence from beneath deep layers into the ecstatic.  Layers made visible by shallow breath...

My hand makes it's way up to the sweet cage coverin up the beat that grows increasingly hurried.  Kissing her neck softly as I breathe into the nape of her neck...

My travels take me up her back.  Tensing up my muscles to tug gently on her hair.  My mouth finds a willing partner on her supple lips...

Her legs grow tensed as does her pelvis.  She feels what I'm telegraphing without speech.  To savor texture and design...

I take her soul to my poet's nest where glimpses of what I do best can be seen fom the inside out.  All without plan or precedence.  A wave to ride for combustible collision...

I see her steady containment collapse with eyes closed.  She's not smooth enough for indifference in this place.  Here...in my space...

In this space my drip takes days to fill a glass.  Savoring each drip like a cut up piece of succulent steak.  Drip inside...drip...for just a taste...

~Moses Apollo