Best Passionchocolate Poems
We Dance
“I’ll prepare the entre.”
“Ok.”
“I’ll tackle dessert.”
“Good.”
“He swings around me to reach the fridge.”
“I reach behind him to get chocolate and sugar.”
“Shrimp?”
“Yummy.”
“Chocolate pudding?”
“Perfect.”
“He stands beside me-peeling by the sink.”
We touch –
Barry White plays softly, quietly.
Egg yolks, milk, chocolate, and corn starch in a pot.
“Excuse me – oven needs to be on.”
“No problem –“
My hips move back – making room.
Oven’s preheating – burner’s on medium.
I stir chocolate velvet.
He sprinkles toasted breadcrumb.
Semi-circle round his back for glasses on the shelf.
We touch –
We smile –
We dance.
This is a dangerous man. Seduction‘s tendrils lace
thumbs at collarbone, his digits wind round behind.
Manicured, long, clean…fingers, made for face tracery,
pulling back shoulders and raising crest-capped peaks.
Thumbs at collarbone, his digits wind round behind.
Soft, full, Latin lips nibble the pulse racing at neck,
pulling back shoulders and raising crest capped peaks,
manicured long clean…fingers made for tracery.
Soft, full, Latin lips nibble the pulse racing at neck.
The kiss repeats with nips and pulls to bottom lip.
Manicured long clean…fingers made for tracery,
the return voyage of his mouth brushes half closed lids.
The kiss repeats with nips and pulls to bottom lip.
Stasis without, riling within, rose-crests scratch across cloth.
The return voyage of his mouth brushes half-closed lids.
Enough, relent, leave off, the fainting feeling, so intense.
Stasis without, riling within, rose-crests scratch across cloth.
Push, push, his barrel chest, the salt and pepper curls.
Enough, relent, leave off, the fainting feeling, so intense.
Bodies have not met, yet, this momentary bliss is not without regret.
Push, push, his barrel chest, the salt and pepper curls.
Blood like rainwater drains to nether regions of pain.
Ours bodies have not met, yet, momentary bliss without regret.
Like chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips and sauce,
A whipped cream delight of potential deadly sorrow,
Manicured long clean…..fingers made for face tracery,
God!….exited my lips, as they left his.
This is a dangerous man. Seduction‘s tendrils lace.