the traveler

she says in her soft way,
yes,
and
oh,
and the curves of silk
wrap around his shoulders
because he speaks his
cunt-talk
in tongues.

the way her flavor
caresses his buds and nose,
soft slippery wet
coats his lips…
silken curves turn solid
and quake,
leaves in torrential wind,
hips rise,
cunt pulse
throbs in
heartbeat time—

he drinks
and time is a dead end,
and time is a still stream,
waking dream,
she moves and color
beads her chest,
spine-tingling world wonders,
his mouth covers her cunt country,
he moves up over
while she still shivers
quivering light,
and cock enters country
enters
sublime—
consume,
subsume,
her mouth opens,
and on his breath and chin,
they both savor
the dawn.
~(C) Anais