I lean on my elbow, taking in the view. Soft sheen glistening, covering the length of you. It's just moments after, catching our breath. No wonder the French call it the petite death. Naughtily while you doze I let my fingers explore; Your brow, eyes, and nose. Your soft full mouth hinting at tasting more. Stopping at the valley above your chest. A full hand sweep to encompass the rest. You grab my inching hand slowly tasting my fingers. One by one, wetting them slowly each with your tongue. I hover above you grinning ear to ear. Moaning something delicious only you can hear. Mouths closing the distance connecting in heat. Ready again to dance, moving urgently to this beat. Familiar and new passion, tastes bitter and sweet. Rising to the occasion, tension head to feet. Enter to softness pausing to adjust, Perfectly melding, parry to thrust. I hold on tightly, afraid to let go. You cradle me rocking to and fro.