Deep Kick

I'd seen her in a bathing suit, all tan lines
and tattoos but never undulated
never as her musculature slunk toward me,
her back arching, her thighs parting,
my fingers caressing the light switch
downward, downward, ever downward
and walking tongues spelled out the night
in strokes and licks and moans.

Go, she breathes,
hair in hands,
leave me nothing.

So release the hounds and lock hips in rhythm,
so push the pace until shivers pass way beyond
love then turn serpentine, swirl her yoni, flick
with cock and tongue 'til legs twitch free
from sockets and die supine. The room gasps.
The count: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Seven. Eight. And she makes good at nine, eyes
re-lit with purpose, mounting to unlight mine.