Lingua Intima (a poem)

Mouths speak the language of intimacy
without uttering a word
Your lips on mine so tender and sweet
with one brush I am wet,
flowing like a river of metta
towards its numinous destination
Your skin so salty from exertion
with one taste I am lost
Moaning, I bring my mouth to yours
kissing deeply, asking,
Can you taste yourself on my tongue?
Skin-hunger and flavor collide
setting into motion lips tongue and teeth
breath-play
Touching tongue to skin
I exhale upon it, a warm breath
Your moan spurs me on to blow
streams of air across the mouth-water
tongue-stamped to your flesh
Lips forming the symbols of intimacy,
speaking without words

I awakened with this poem pulsing in my brain. It was inspired by B., Thursday night's date. He kisses like I do--with full attention. It is quite a lethal combination. Dizzying, in fact. At one point I pushed him back and kissed his chest, simply so I could get some air. His skin was salty from an afternoon of golf. It was like an aphrodisiac. He tasted like steak tartar. I wanted to eat him up. I nibbled, sucked, kissed and licked my way from his neck to his feet, pushing his clothes out of my way as I singlemindedly sampled him--stopping occasionally to crawl back up to share with him the taste of his salt on my tongue.

Mmmmmm.