poetry

Aromatherapy

He loves the scent of me, 

sips me like tea,

my perfumed floral sweetness

noted by with hints of peach, exclusively mixed 

infused by my own vanilla and chocolatey breeze. 

Instantly aroused, 

his promises, to devour my nectar in sips. 

Intoxicated senses, 

as he makes long  sexy sighs, with each inhaled whiff.  

My neck and shoulder, 

to heaving double D’s, 

down my abdomen and hips, 

as my knees, go weak. 

Continuing on, 

in a whiff teasing quest, 

toward the inner thigh, 

near the treasured center, 

of my medley’s, zest.  

He loves the scent of me, 

he says it’s his, 

as he kisses every revealed inch, 

 seductively, calling it

 aromatherapy, lifts.

Showing so much famine as well a stand,  

stroking a powerful stiffness, 

with the freeness of one hand. 

Sipping the fruit induced mimosa,  crown rub’s paradise’s quiver, as returning sips repeat, to my

medley’s, 

smalled formed river.


Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore

 18+ Mature Content

 Thinker on the Loose

 Copyright (c) 2017

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