Gaze

It is yours I imagine; it is yours I crave.

It is your gaze, furtive and dark, voracious, unflinching, penetrating, I see reflected back as I stand before the glass slowly unveiling my nakedness, your molten eyes devouring my every detail, my every move, the zipper sliding, the clasps released, the fitted skirt, the satin shirt a tangle at my feet, my shoulders shrugging away the straps, these fingers easing down the lace to reveal the crimson peaks you hunger to take between your lips, my hand cupping the sodden ebony covering my sex, these hips grinding, my mound mashed into this palm, this sensual dance inflaming the ache, intensifying the need to tease away the fabric fused to my scarlet flesh, to have you drop to your knees between my legs brazenly open wide, to have your body marked in my scent, to have your mouth lap at the smoothness of my dripping cunt and the clitoris throbbing, pulsing, longing for your deep tongue kiss, to have you taste me, drink me down, to have you drive me to the screaming edge, to have you against me, buried inside me, to have you possess me with a softness then a violence neither one of us can resist.