Butterfly Kiss (Or Where Did You Learn That?)
Warm breath, pure sweet from open mouth, soft parted lips so slick,
Butterfly tongue teasing mine, flitting, tip-tip, slow, slow, quick.
Now serpentine, deep and probing, firm against my own,
One way, then the next, who taught her such delights?
Arched back upon the bed, thrusting pretty-tipp’ed mounds,
Stroked lightly, yet so strongly sensed, soft sachets full of love.
Sweet mons, rising to my touch, light sigh, a groan,
Sharp cry, oh! please, my darling, please, oh! please,
Who you taught you all these tricks?
Words of ardour, lust and love, hiss’d urgent raised desire
Language once would never do, (don’t use that word my child)
Short wicked words now sound so sweet, when gasped twixed breathless kiss,
Or whispered mouth on ear can raise an agony of bliss,
Who spoke them first?, me?, you?, I really do not know my love.
Where did we learn to say those things?
Near 40 years since on this bed, my sweet and I first joined,
She came to me a virgin bride, un-kissed, untouched, unknown,
And I, a silly childish fool, no knowledge of the ways,
Of love, and life, nor shown at all, by any other girl.
And now I’m past my three score years, our love still binds and grows.
Still fresh, still new, yet still to find, new ways to please and thrill,
No words, no books, no help required, no secrets from another.
Locked tight in love’s strong rings for life, we simply teach each other.
Copyright © Wayne Atkinson | Year Posted 2007
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