Brush Strokes (The Divine)

Standard

Together we etched the lines of eroticism

With deep brush strokes

We defined the art of lovemaking

More than mere tongues and touching

Our missionary was spiritual

Like a shaman you conjured sweetness

Offered up like holy water

I blessed, you drank

In turn I worshiped your essence

Like the idol it was

Only you because I don’t believe in polytheism

Lips tracing psalms on flesh

Making our bodies holy books

You ardently committed each verse to memory

Ready to recite at a moment’s kiss

Hands in hair, planting offerings between my breasts

I answer prayers

Prostrating before the tip of your altar

I passionately submit to the divine

And together we etched the lines of eroticism

 

© 2010 by Toya J

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