Manners

Sitting next to each other,
I'm caressing the edges of your face,
absorbed in the way you look at me.
Our lips find different ways to touch.
I feel my heartbeat between crossed legs.
My appetite for you is forcing its way out with each kiss.

My hunger is for more than food.
My taste buds crave a type of sweet-salty only flesh
and veins can produce.
Ravenous to the point of sloppy salivation,
I leave all clothes on the floor along with my decorum.
I consume you with my hands.
I feast on your moans.

To lay you down is to spread a buffet
before a starving beast.
To straddle your thigh is to feed a deeper craving.
Your hands in my hair
showing the fastest ways to your pleasure.
I savor the guidance.
Lost in the aroma of musk and that missing ingredient,
lips and thighs open wider.

Your thigh is soaked.
My mouth so full,
I have to swallow before I ask for seconds.
I do have manners, after all.