Fruits of vine II

°°°

With your hands you pluck the dull shined marbles

from their bouquet bunch, leaving but empty stems.

Your fingers clasp them one on one, on the tips,

until the five of flesh hold four between ‘m,

become nine all together, the only differences,

determining colors, and the texture of skin.

As I’m not allowed to move, your hands promise

to feed on me, when they slowly advance on my lips.

The enchantment of gesture brings un channeled impulse

to my jaws, my first bite is too fierce, I hurt your fingers,

the grapes drop from your hand, emptied it slaps my cheek.

Message received twinkle my eyes, the next hand arrives.

One by one the natures soft and sweet candy,

are sucked in by my lips, between the tongue and palate,

I squash the fruit, let the juices flow through my temple of taste.

A next marble is offered by your fingers passing on my mouth,

the touch of overwhelming gentility, provocative oral stimulating.

Your movement now pushes the grape inside,

the excess of fluids flowing out, which in return

gets licked, first from my chin, second the lips,

until our tongues find themselves saturated,

by this dew of Gods and Goddesses.

That this enchantment may behold on any

piece of fruit, to be imaginatively shared.

°°°

Deine Paulinchen

06–12–2016

°°°

rewritten on reprimand

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