Experientialist: a collector of experiences, especially one-of-a-kind.
You gently quake in silence
As I breathlessly anticipate
the arrival of the anthurium.
Lying, eyes closed, the air heavy and moist
the downy hair of your thighs tickles.
As I lightly touch you there
your legs, of their own accord, spread apart.
With the image of the anthurium’s proud spadix
firmly in my mind, I watch as the majesty of
your flower expands before my eyes.
Gently I lean down and inhale the
intoxicating musky smell where
the spadix and the spathe are one.
I run my fingers up and down the spike
The quivering flower readies itself to pollinate
as it secretes its sticky, translucent, stigmatic fluid.
I once again lower my head and lick the fluid away.
The searing heat of my mouth
is tempered by the ice cubes I suck
as I envelope the parched shaft in dripping wetness.
Gently I ease myself back and forth, urging the spadix
to release its life giving elixir.
I concentrate on the apex and soon
I am rewarded as the shaft is no longer able
to resist the building intensity of my attention.
You erupt and my thirst is quenched.
Copyright ©2012 KnowledgeKnut
Between your satin creamy thighs
do I wish to lie.
With every languid breath I inhale the
sweet aroma of your budding flower.
Slowly, softly, gently I spread apart the
delicate petals that encase the liquid
treasure that I crave, need, want.
With urgency I probe deeper, feeding on
the nectar of life. Your breath becomes
shallow, as if the air was sucked out.
Eyes fluttering, hips thrust forward
as you draw me in. Still I thirst, still I
feed, a vampire feeding on the fire and
passion that flows. Will this lust be
satiated, I think not, hotter, sweeter,
thicker does your fountain flow. Arching
your back, now gasping, the ground beneath
us begins to quake. Beads of dew well up on
your brow as the elixir of life boils forth,
Still I thirst, Still I feed.
Copyright ©2000 SPFW