Hands and Miles Davis
© 2000 by A. J. Heard
All rights reserved - copy/duplication prohibited
Your hands speak to me in the language of fingers
as you smooth my black satin skin.
The largeness of them talks in solid assurances
telling me that you will be passionately, intensely gentle
but persistent in calling down my desire
setting free my sense of abandon
keeping me cradled in the security of your lust.
Elongated squares, your palms, spread molasses like urgings,
sweet and bitter, across my Rubenesque frame
ensnaring me in emotions pregnant with heat,
like an old photo: a naked couple embrace
caught in the glare of a unshaded window
at 10: AM, in July, in Phoenix, Arizona.
Taking all the heat from this desert landscape
your fingers paint it up my spine
creating a wake of undulating muscle,
and down across my nipples as they burn and itch,
expanding, begging for your tongue to quench their thirst.
You slide a finger over my rounded belly
centring the attention of that wanton mouth below
where muscles speak in contractions
and sensitive lips do a slow fan dance of desire
inviting closer encounters, leaving me feeling
like a sweet, slow, weighty Miles Davis riff.
Not to be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.
A. J. Heard lives in Santa Cruz, Ca. with her numerous Fur Persons; where she dreams of moving to Santa Fe,
NM and is a frequent contributor to the ERA web site, and has been posted on Suspect Thoughts web site,
published in Blue Food, La Gazette and Staplegun Press and has a story in the forth coming anthology "Guilty
Secrets II" edited by M. Christian.