Awakened, bobsled hard,
Still moist from mutual anointment,
He stirs in their sheets with practiced stealth,
Eases from blended, homespun warmth
Toward newly sugared slopes.

He hovers on the landing's cornice
In raging defiance of Newton,
Aching for the rush of descent
To his private playground.

He risks a backward glance.
The recumbent form shifts, falls inert.
He guards his own breath,
False start averted.

Hushed woolen footfalls tread the runner.
Neon promises brighten one palm
And carve his path
Through the pre-dawn pitch.

Reckless fantasies slalom
Between cortex and coccyx.
Flashes of unveiled, split femininity
(Like glistening snow crystals, no two exactly the same)
Might as well be a playful flurry
Of tongues
Swirling atop his sheathed serac.

Drawers leap his quickened mogul;
Distended elastic frames his new freedom.
The thrill of an aperture to public prurience
Numbs him to the cold couch cushion.

He craves the contraband
Of spectators' stares,
Thrives on the adrenaline
Of crowded admiration.

Then a rigid number,
Like a degree of difficulty,
Spikes the screen
And it's from her,
The one who reads his proclivities
As instinctively as darkened touch
And shamelessly inflates him
Against his will.

His purpose swerves under lettered caresses.
Resolve tumbles off-course, sprawls helplessly
Astride her kneeling, predatory nakedness.
His audience narrows to one wicked kiss.

They can't see you now,
She taunts with a wanton whisper
Before silencing herself with his girth.

He launches into the chute of her lips,
Savors the shuddering, tautly wrapped thrusts
That tug in perfect rhythm with his grip.

Her feathered friction abates.
He waits
In a zero gravity throb.

A breathless rune
Rises with her smile,
You taste so fucking good
Before he surrenders
To the steepened grade.

No brakes on this bullet,
No derailment desired,
Each struggle brings heated collision
With cinch and suck and twist
Of hot-buttered labyrinth.

Maximum g-force churns his seed.
Jet propelled by glimpses
Of loosed lace anklets,
He imprints her lewdness
Behind squeezed eyelids
And ruts the slide of her mouth
To a blind, convulsive crash.

His fatigued hand soaks
In the color of softened frost.
Bested, he blinks at the tabletop moon.

All that winks back is her triumph,
Like a checkered flag:
I am your webcam.