Psychotrope

I walk out into the night, wearing black, a shadow in the shadows.  You’re waiting for me, not far away, lingering in the murky hinterland of the dreamscape.  I seek you out, calling some veiled greeting into the darkness.  Your shadow joins mine, merges like indigo ink.  The moon is rising and I take your hand.

“Come with me.”

I feel like a wicked temptress; Circe luring Odysseus.  My house is like an island in the gloom.

 In my bedroom, a candle burns, reflected by a mirror.  I kiss you and the falling sensation begins, a soft inward spiral.  Your mouth tastes faintly of fruit and I suck your tongue.  Your mouth mesmerizes me.  Your lips are like the wings of a moth flirting with a flame; they brush my flesh with an adept delicacy that makes me arch my spine. 

Never before like this…

We undress and you tell me I have lovely skin.  I lie, like a white fox, snared by desire.  Already I am wet, a sweet viscous pool between my thighs.  Your mouth on my neck makes me writhe, an exquisite torture.  I push my fingers through your hair and it slides, thick, dark and silky, sensuous.