Outside, I am unmoving,
as still as a summer breeze,
maintaining a visage
of calmness while inside
I am a sandstorm, roaring grains
fueled beneath his fiery wind.
The core of me whirls, as I
yearn the heat of his hands,
and seek the quench of his kisses,
his mouth pressed gently to mine,
our lips mimicking the sand grains
dancing along the horizon.
His tongue offers honeydew,
and I suckle as if tomorrow
will not arrive. Soon, he is swept up,
consumed within passion's storm,
thrusting into the core, a waterfall
suddenly awaiting his entry.
He willingly accepts the journey,
and my sand grains wrap, like silk,
around the length of him, clasping,
guiding, urging him deeper, leading him
along the sand dunes and the red land
of the storm's pulsing rhythm.
Control is desired, but sensing me
near, he grows helpless to resist
forging onward, my passionate cries
driving him to travel faster, farther,
until he and I quake beneath the force
of our passionate joining amid the storm.
