The Stuff of Dreams
You excite,
take me to the edge of delight,
then you tease and tantalize.
I try to devise
some fancy plot or scheme
to bring me to our dream.
I hold my breath, cross my fingers, to countless gods I
pray,
still, there are not the dazzling colors exploding, only the
in-between of gray.
Surrounded by a haze,
I wait for days
to be lifted to that highest of heights,
to get that mystical, magical invite,
to get rid of my demons, to exorcise,
but, mostly, for you and me to be realized --
to be that perfect team
built of fire and steam.
Down, down, I lay,
dreaming of sex and the San Francisco bay,
waiting for the touch that will raise
me to that state of crazed
quivering,
where you are delivering
such joy, such pleasure, such extasy to my thighs
and to all my erogenous zones, with such skill, such size.
You are my prize.
The joy may be fleeting,
like our meetings,
quick and pure,
but oh, so much more.
This fantasy of mine, the stuff of dreams,
but you much more than exceed
these silly little daydreams.
You bring me to the brink,
play with me, wink,
then you take me beyond and above,
fill me with laughter, light, love.
Then I lay panting and flushed,
but never rushed,
in the cradle of your arms,
languishing in your charms.
You hold me tight,
god, how you excite.
I love the way take me to the edge of delight,
hold me there, poised on the brink,
then you take me all the way, 'till I sink
into a moment of purity and calm,
our hands entwined -- palm in palm.
You, you are so much more than all the rest,
in addition to being the best of the best.
Even when we plot and scheme,
what we got is the stuff of dreams.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
