They roll back intoxicated, entranced and devoured. Lips part breathless...
this was me.
You do not know what to do with this body that trembles, the intensity frightens you. But every woman longs to abandon herself in the throes of ecstasy. Aches for the hands of her lover to sink his fingers into the meat of her hips and press further down into him as he reaches the end of her birth canal.
Without the thought of survival, we would continue this dance well into the night.
But the appetite of a woman both amazes and frightens most men. In his abandon, he loses his seed into darkness, and feels his body weaken just as she awakens. Now, warmed and wet, does the instrument truly start to play, but at what hands of a sleepy composer?
So in this celibacy, I speak to the sacred between my thighs, and coax her out of despair. That ecstasy is not dependent on another body to inhale her beauty and consume her flesh.
That she is the well the sunlight fills, and with practice of breath and communion with the elements... the act of sex transcends beyond any written text or feverish imagination...