Urges Poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro

I loved how her breasts
would sway and swell,
above me then settle
on my chest after she
came, and the way
my skin felt under her
warm, wet breath, as if
her most fervent urges
were all talkin' at once,
as if they'd come cold
from the darkness,
tryin' to shoulder in
close to the fire. Squeezin'
my skin with her lips,
she would knead and strum
her fingers down my side
and ardently sound out
her passion, then raise
up, to shake her hair,
in the breeze that blew
from the mountain mornin'
through our window.
Then over our heads
she'd pull the bed sheet,
printed with wavy lines
like ocean waves
crestin' under puffs
of our spent urges
scented with a mix
of sex and her perfume,
the only crestin' waves
near these mountains.

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