"Myfanwy... Myfanwy... Am I yours. Am I yours."
"Yes, yes, yes you are -"
Oh! those words of reassurance, those words of need, those words of love.
The smile, the sigh, the open mouth, the lustful scent that drifts on the rising air.
The hand of hers, that slowly clutches and feeds their fingers through filamentous hair,
And the brush of fingertips against warm gossamer-like skin.
The heady rush of need, desire, lust, all brought on by wanton behaviour.

Her sharp intake of breath, synchronous to the touch of my lips,
On those downy hills that open without thought, without interrogation, without question.
And what of the flick of my tongue, prising open her depths and longing for that taste,
From the rivulets of honey that flow from her treasured land beyond,
Only to be gathered and savoured, in ever increasing appreciation, on my extended tongue.
I strum at her lips and lose myself between those plump, silky, guardians of pleasure.
And I feel the rise and fall of her gentle rolling hills, that belies the approaching storm.

I play with her tune - rising and falling, side to side, up and down,
Lost to the sounds from above and to the slipperyness of the slope that descends the abyss.
The fiery cavern, inflamed and engorged, is slowly disciplined by the 
Moist and succulent rivers of nectar that are duly harvested.
My pulse races, a pounding sense of urgency envelops me as I feel the same need in her,
I clamp my mouth down hard onto her tender succulent stem,
And I tease it, entice it, encourage it to roar and growl.

And growl it does-
It fights, it bites, in ways that she knows not.  
As she forces the growing urge away from her, and into the darkening night.
Hands that once clasped me to her minute yardang,
Now pushes and throws me away, discarding me from her shipwrecked thighs.
As the dying embers of that special moment, flare from the fireworks of her soul,
And the red fiery lust filled moans, and groans, abate and subside.

With apparent finality, creeping towards her,
I hear her moan, her knees collapse inwards, her hands grasp at the emptiness of the air.
And her thighs clamp me tight in the throes of her pleasure, as she cries-
"Yes, yes, yes-"
But these are not the words of love, nor the
Words of pleasure, or freedom, or absolution, or release.
These are the words of completion, of satisfaction, of conclusion, of outcome.

No-one is calm - There is no calm here.
No-one is silent - As echoes of lust reverberate through-out the enclosed space.
Her body flexes, but it is nothing like a quiescent butterfly.
More a bucking Bronco, or the tiniest vessel lost and tossed on the tempestuous seas, like an abandoned cork.
I raise my wet and dripping chin from her spent thighs, and lick my honey coated lips for her to see.
Her eyes widen, not for what has just passed,
But for what is about to come. 

Her wry smile says it all, 
Her gaze directed at the bob bob bobbing length between my legs.
The pulsating and throbbing rod of steel that dips and rises as I stride forwards,
Its motion, matching her throbbing need, as she watches, untethered and open-mouthed.
Her eyes close once more, satisfied by the slow, swing of stiffened flesh,
That plays to the same beat as her lust filled body.
And her thighs widen in response, accepting these, unplayed notes of desire.

And I...
I descend once more upon her and guide my expectation upwards.
Eyes close, breaths sigh, bodies are entwined and control relinquished.
I push, and she accepts, and her body takes her onto the next step of revelation.
A kiss is offered and with hands wrapped around me, she responds,
She pulls me into her warmth, she fixes me in place with her hands and heels,
And her body lifts and falls, in tune to the rhythm of sex.

"Myfanwy...