I am left breathless when you utter words of such gentle wisdom and compassion, and I can think only of quieting you, quieting us both if but for a moment, to feel your moist, supple lips pressed tenderly upon my own, moistened further still by the tears of adoring joy which would well up from deep within my Heart, then slowly down the velvet of your cheek, blessing, in this way, our Angels’ Kiss.
I am taken to a day when I might linger quietly beside you as you slept, watching over you in tranquility as I meditate upon the gentle rise and fall of your breast. I could then dare only to awaken you, to nestle down in serene observance of the warm, peaceful thrum of your heart, allowing it to return me to some long-forgotten infant state as I rediscover for myself such appeasement in your gracious clemency; only to then cradle you in your turn, as a father would his babe, to soothe away your deepest griefs and woes, and bring only cheerful reassurance in their stead.
I am moved by another simple thought and it rolls me once more into a beautiful dream: to take you within my arms and lay you down so gently in a great cloud of pillows arrayed within a shroud of Venetian lace, in an ambience adorned and prettied with lily bouquets all a-glow by the light of a tallow flame, with the scent of exotic perfumed oils and pastilles of India wafting languorously through the air; to feel the lithe satin of your forme as it becomes so discreetly unveiled beneath my fingertips, with the touch of soft feathers and scarves of China silk, plush fur and fresh-plucked rose petals alighting so daintily and so elegantly upon your sleek, naked skin.
The silence of our evening would be broken only by your quiet sighs as I caressed you lovingly and endlessly in the peaceful hush of calm reflection in which you lay there before me, leaving you startled with tension and apprehension as you felt suddenly so exposed, utterly defenseless as you moved beyond mere peril and into the veritable certainty of a rapturous deliria aroused by my flitting, floating kneads and pressures — a sly torture that should be hastened only further still by the taunt of designed hesitation and interruption.
So might I only begin to extend to you this frolic of my love, seeking only in this moment for myself in recompense but to lift you up once more in an embrace, if only to feel the fluffy down of a fine tress of your hair upon my nape, wisping about from my panting breath as I gasp in the sweet pleasure of suspense and anticipation of even the slightest brush from your soft, delicate hands.
I would be overcome! I would feel compelled to kneel before you in entranced, silent worship of the resplendent radiance of your Femininity. My heart would race as I was left astonished and engulfed by this sight... I can’t... I shouldn’t... O! but I must! My passion would overtake my reason, I would reach out to venerate and fill myself of you, surrendering to the flow of this sacred, blossoming fount from which I could do naught but quench my Spirit, to endlessly slake myself from this flux and flourish of Beauty that I have been so blessed in this life to have held, and to have simply beheld in such serenity and hallowed ardour before me...
I cannot begin to conceive what it could be for us to delve into this sphere of our Sense and Sensation, to swim gracefully together in such an Ocean of Delight, to enter so delicately into this ancient Tantric mystery unexplored, held if only in a simple clutch of yab-yum as we surrender to rising energies spoken of for æons in hidden legend; freeing ourselves to boundless waves of wonder and surprise, upon crests of ecstasies that promise only perfect unison for us both, as we mount and surmount in the rising intensity of our open display — now quivering, then shuddering as the serpentine conflagration wells up inside, its tantalizing flames licking up within and overflowing from without as we transcend all previous limits, only to thrust beyond the pulse and rhythm of all beloved, poetic expression; convulsing and then erupting into our delicious feast of prurience that should satisfy all appetites and thirsts, yet would leave us only ever more ravenous and wanting, insatiably hungering for more and more and never-ending more, performing to exquisite perfection each new act within this, our epic play.
It could only be a union with such mystic and spiritual correlations, a passion that would be the envy of all the Deities of Heaven and Beyond, rivalling none less than that of the mythical Cupid and Psyche, and all as should never cease our endless whispering of charmèd incantations as have been already imparted and sent forth forever between ourselves... until at last, so long, long last, the spell would thus be done! The supernatural blend of our innate potions would return as an alchemic tincture invoked betwixt and within us both, serving only to further rejuvenate and empower the Sanctity of Our Love.
Then, and only then, could we finally collapse in our heroes’ triumph, to sink ever so slowly into the puddle of our respite and drift on to the luscious coalescence and peace of our afterglow, quietly swooning ourselves with secret murmurs and endearing hums as we languish in the subtle — yet so very sumptuous — pleasures of pompoir.
How can I begin
Where could I find words so worthy and precious to describe
The Earth would tremble
Questions? Comments? Bug report?
All text, graphics and web design of this entire site