When you wake.

I like to watch you, my King,
Sleep.
It’s when my lips, upper thighs,
And throat are most free.
Free from your hands,
Arms,
And legs.
Free to imagine,
How I’ll be consumed by you next.
Next, when you wake,
With your sweeter embrace,
Shaping the line that’s my side,
Grasping firmly,
Softly,
Molding against me like clay.
Your skin,
Sienna and copper,
Mixed with hints of mint.
Leaning back I kiss,
You insist,
While holding my neck,
Giving you full frame of my face.
Do as you wish,
But el Diablo you are not, mi amor.
You are not cruel when you wake,
You’re only sweet,
In this space.
When soft moans echo,
Reverberate,
In sync, then out,
In a synchronized,
Syncopated,
Beat.
Watching the walls,
Soft, electric hue,
Lilac blues,
Surrounding this still room.
You then slip gently inside,
You can’t not,
Though I lose breath,
When your shaft separates,
My pussy swollen and soft.
Too much sometimes,
When your finger, so gentle,
Moves to our lefts,
Finding your way,
Your hand slipping further across,
The crease,
To feel each plump fold,
Holding my clit in place.
You flick,
Steady, gentle, on course.
Holding us both in place,
Anchoring yourself,
To the highest point of my hip.
All in an early morning,
Sleepy wake.
So touched by your care,
When you guide,
No agenda in mind.
Just your addiction to me.
“Be still.
Just let me feel you, my Queen,”
You whispering,
Pressed against my right ear,
Those words to me.
I’ll come,
While still,
Meeting you halfway.
Right here, right now,
For you, my King.
To your left,
When you wake.