looking out upon the greying streets

mechanical people in boxes with wheels

i remember how last night we caught

fireflies in old dirty mason jars

along the edge of the lake

later beside the snapping of the fire

your tickle flutter kisses landed

such gentle feathered wings upon my neck

and just behind my pale seashell ears

sitting on the seat chest against my back

what's need or miss but this want of your hands

large and wearing the black fur of your hair upon them

sliding themselves around my full hips and down

down to spread apart the crease of my white thighs

and wander restless on this journey we've denied

pressed between your legs my own feel so free

and the pressure of your hardness against me

yes, just below the dimple of my lower back

where soft heart-shaped curves round outwards

yes, and you pushing so strong between them

kiss me again, please--

pull the lengths of my dark hair from off my back

so that from shoulders to spine I am alive

from the wet hot heat of your searching mouth

the brush of your beard and moustache pricking my skin

furry and warm I feel your chest meet up to my back

and I fill your hands as you reach around in front of me

giving rise to the ache at my very tips, my lips, my opened self

climbing to those tips and peaks with a tender touch

pulling reality far away from us and the everyday

kiss me again,

as you seek my sweetness with greedy hands

dipping into me for this warm sugared honey shared

hoping for your urgent and persistent tasting

and pleasure given in this our delectable feast

and now--

now busy city streets

if only-

greener pastures

where secrets wear freedom

but nothing else