[untitled]

my fingertips slide in between the motion of her hips imagining tracing the curves of her moistened lips i'm climbing inside of each rhythm and creating a song within the moans from her throat and the arches of her back making love is a song many claim to know, but never have heard

so I travel the melody and the chorus through the tender strings that bring her skin to my touch and I think I hear some words repeat and find solace in their groove it's a place I could go over and over again until her moans become small breaths that inhale and exhale the moments that stole them the peak of a climax that settled in between the mountains brown flesh, rest and perspire

passion, a thirst caught between desire and action motion and sensory distraction it's indescribable and lingering hanging there between a word left unsaid and a verse written instead