The pulse in your rising calves -
Racking on your long asymmetrical toes
Is the setting of a sensual metronome.
The sculpt of your thigh,
The thick tussle of your dark hair.
With the scent that announces your intention,
Your inching brings us closer.
The protruding curve of your back
Draws the eye to its small and to the smooth skin of your torso -
Chiseled from supple marble.
Flawless skin cloaks your body like an infants’ all grown up
And lips so pliable and rouged, the guardians of a miraculous mouth.
Your irises are no longer twinkling – they pierce,
While the force of your baritone brushes away words.
The span of your hands reaches as your fingers find my body
And run tender, libidinous caresses.
The ignition borne from your nakedness rouses the moment we share.
The approach of your thrust leads me to an explosive ecstasy.
Stubble against stubble we feel,
We are two men together.
(©22 November 2013
Camp Basile, Tarboro, North Carolina)
Comments about this poem (Spiritus Raptus by Ryan Conor )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley