Opening Gambit

My lips press against yours

at first meeting resistance,

then an opening, a yielding.

My tongue tastes yours

sensuous, sensual, arousing.

You respond equally, ardently,

your hand tracing a line

from my ankle to the top of my thigh;

feather soft, gossamer.

You find my center and I open.

Eyes smoky with desire, you fondle my breasts,

your fingers finding me sensitive, vulnerable.

Never looking back, I utterly surrender my soul.

© Ellen Ferejohn Maziekien

4/9/2000