Indirect love second draft

Indirect love 

In supplication I stand 
Waiting for your hands 
To guide me. 
So place them -I am waiting-
With the rising of a now plump vine 
I stand ...erect circumspect
And suspect. 
Guilty of a need that has a name. 
And as the slow jazz permeates 
Vibrating through me 
Oscillating my whole 
I feel myself begin to kneel 
Like the lonely soul 
Wrestling with the 
Evangelical lunatic 
I start to crawl ~and feel within
A lone wolf howling 
With the mad
Longing for that circumspect connection
-even if its only an illusion- 
Made in a tent just sodden with rain
and filled with scent of dead straw
With dead Chords from dead sounds 
that deaden my dead head
with dead fingers that curl dead around me. 

Let me help she cries. 
-I laugh I cry I want to fly-
Let me place my hands upon you and in the of soil of silk 
Let my hand and tongue of fire 
Strive to make you stay alive 
So between us rises the beauty
That slowly entwines as one 
and from this place grace 
Slowly falls into place. 

I play with your nipple in my mouth 
Curling its budding tip
Rolling it over my tongue the warmth of my abrasion
Plucking it alive 
While your firm hand 
in long slow strokes
tightens and then excites 
-and with thoughts of your milking heat rises-
to a world I have never fully seen before. 

And in the kiss of twilight
when the shards of night collide
I think about this sacred moment 
Where bodies and minds entwine
I dwell on muscles hardening gyrating
and contracting aching a need
That throbs in such soft pulses.
and then releases the need. 

And in this cathedral of the senses
where cinnamon sweeps
with rose and jasmine seeps 
I lay back and rest deep within 
This image of Indirect love. 
and I shyly smile 
As I long to dwell here
Away from hell forever.

(c) 2014