I walk slowly towards you from the hall.
I want you to watch me move.
I move with my hips and thighs.
My soul is moving inside you now.
...
Let us walk, my king, through
Palace halls, with my hand in
Yours. Warmth. Warmer.
I bring your hand to my lips
...
Hard, tan body. Hair tousled.
Lips mumbling.
I hand you coffee. Weren't
You my king so long ago?
...
Your jeans are stretched tight as you bend under the hood,
T-shirt rumpled, pulled up. My hairy chest man.
Those jeans. So tight, revealing, beckoning.
'Would you like dinner now? I have
...
a woman who loves to write sensual poetry)
Queen
I walk slowly towards you from the hall.
I want you to watch me move.
I move with my hips and thighs.
My soul is moving inside you now.
Your eyelashes cannot hide the need
In your eyes. You move to rise.
I whisper, 'Stay there. I will come to
You.'
As the swaying gets faster, I place
My finger on the back of your neck.
Then, so slowly, down your back.
Back up. Slower. Down your chest.
I have always been your queen.
Always your harem of one.
The mistress of your need.
You, my king of fire.