creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Poems, Poetry

Oblivion

The sleep drowns us,
but not our desires.
In a gist of cold air,
we hide our warmth teasing each other.
My hands trace your bare back,
I hear your subtle moans, that
travel from the waist and chin
kissing your warm breath.
I trace every curve, every tip,
every flesh warm enough for my hands.

I cup your breasts, caress them, lick their desires stirring them to a brewed memory,
The clothes slowly shed themselves to the floor.
I feel my hands tracing my chest,
My nails piercing your navel and going way below between your legs,
We won’t stop for we are unaware,
of where would we stop,
or how to,
or simply why.

You drag me into an oblivion
of warm madness.

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